


Like An Apple From A Tree

by Ukthxbye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Day At The Beach, Deductions, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Haircuts, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Language, Molly Hooper is not okay, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Possessive Sherlock, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Sexual Tension, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Swedenlolly, Travel, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-05-17 02:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14823371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ukthxbye/pseuds/Ukthxbye
Summary: After everything, Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper know they are in love. Being in love after all this time is not simple and Sherlock believes a holiday to Sweden will help them to examine what they are now.





	1. Proper Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Mouse9 for the endless encouragement. Thanks to EclecticMuse for tolerating my terrible habit of jumping tenses and missing oxford commas, and for editing my work. Thanks to Moffat for leaving a gapping hole in the story that he set up so I could fill it in. Thanks to the Game is Now and that audio clue for starting this wonderful thing we know as Sweden. This story will be grounded in reality. The reality of navigating their relationship after all they have gone through would be daunting. Not insurmountable but challenging. Molly was showing signs of breaking down in Series 4 and I want to explore that result.  
> the dress Molly picks out is a real dress at Harrod's now. So lovely. If you look up cocktail dresses it should be in the first page.

“How about Sweden?” Sherlock Holmes asks Molly Hooper casually one day while they were both working in the lab at St. Barts.

“What?” Molly looks confused as she cuts her eyes above the microscope she was adjusting.

“Holiday, let’s take one,” he says, not looking up from his microscope. “Also, you were right, it was a genetic disorder that killed him.”

Sherlock peers up then and smiles at her. Grabbing his phone, texting and then calling Lestrade,  he steps outside the lab.

“Okay, let’s do this,” she says, even though he was already gone from the room.

 

Logic might say that a chalet in the countryside would be a safer, more private option. Sherlock has that in mind too, but for now being in the most obvious place would be the safer option.

Molly was not as accustomed to extended travel like Sherlock and he wanted to consider her comfort as well. She had always said she wanted to go to Sweden. He had heard her say that in casual conversation when it had come up and had saved the memory.  Of course, booking one of the best luxury boutique hotels in Stockholm was sure to provide her some respite. He had grinned a bit too widely when he saw a review that called it a perfect urban bolthole and drew John’s attention.

“What is that grin for?” John asks.

“It's a private matter.,” Sherlock says attempting to hide his smile.

“Ooooh, I see,” John emphasizes. “Holiday planning then?’  
Sherlock almost frowned, but to be honest he is quite happy at the thought and cannot hide it.

“Yes, John, proper holiday planning.”

 

Sherlock prepared Molly for all that could happen on the trip, all the scenarios he could imagine so she was aware of them. They both were practical people, he thought. She’d appreciate the knowledge going into it. “Of course, these are hypotheticals. I am sure the most we’ll have to endure is some annoying cameras if they discover us” he assures.  Nearing the end of the conversation, he notices her looking a little lost in thought. He pauses to give her space to speak her mind.

“I was thinking about doing something to my hair,” she says absently, looking off into space. He raises an eyebrow but tries an encouraging look.

 

“Always have thought about shorter hair, maybe even blonde?” she laughs a bit unconvincingly.

 

Sherlock smiles warmly, “I fell for you as you are. I am not asking you to change for this trip and my concerns if you don’t feel comfortable.  But it might keep some attention off you since there are rumors going about us around London. But if you have wanted to do this for a while, please do. Your hair, your choices. I’ll always love it.” He knows it was a bit of a lie; he might hate it. But he also knows she needed the encouragement.

 

He deduces her disassociating from the trip and from other moments in life and the signs become clearer each day. She developed a mild case of PTSD from the near-death experience with Eurus, which was understandable. He knows her excitement is genuine at times and relishes it, but her mental state of being had weakened. While he found therapy oddly helpful, he has not shared that he had been going. Only Mycroft knows because, well, he knows everything. He had thought Molly was doing okay, managing and moving forward, but the more clarity found him, the muddier her state became. Their holiday planning had brought out the dissociation as a way for her to deal with the stress, he knows that. But ultimately it was his fault, all of it, always. That guilt made him strive to make the trip therapeutic for her if at all possible and to assure her of their future. Guilt was not the relationship base he wanted. He loves her deeply, that he knows. His heart was finally open and bleeding and he had embraced, it just as hers started closing up to protect itself. Perhaps he would get rid of the guilt, but for this, he would always have regret.

 

Molly smirked at his matter-of-fact approach to her changing her appearance, but she still felt parts of herself cracking under the pressure of her own demons.

 

 _Maybe this will help_ , she thinks to herself. _A different me_. _I need to try it out_. _I don’t feel like myself much anymore lately, anyway._ _Being his, well whatever she was, was new. Time to shed some of those old ways._

 

Sherlock composes on the violin while waiting for her return to keep his mind occupied. In fact, if he was honest with himself, he is nervous. His Molly is all colorful jumpers and brown ponytails. He isn’t sure about the change and any effect it will have on him.

 

When Molly returns from the salon, she pauses before going inside. She loves her hair, of course, and had felt her spirits lift at seeing a new person in the mirror. Bright blonde, just below her chin. It would be easier to take care of, as well. _Of course, he can’t wait to see. Face the music, literally,_ she reminds herself. She tried a big grin when she caught his eye as he looked up from his violin, but her face immediately falls when he becomes unreadable. _Oh God, he hates it,_ she thinks.

But she could not be more wrong. He stands up without a word, and _he gets me every time he does that, just holding my eyes with his and locking me in place,_ she reflects. His hands go to her face and into her hair as he runs his fingers through it slowly.

He leans down and kisses her, covering her mouth with his with immediate passion. Once he releases he smiles genuinely. “I love it. Really. It suits you.”

 

She breathes out finally. “Oh thank God, I thought you hated it for a moment.”

 

His brow furrows,

“Do _you_ like it?” he asks gently. She nods grinning. Running his fingers through it again and mentally noting how the products in it smelled, he grins back.“Plus I won’t get my fingers as tangled when we have sex,” he risks with a smirk as he plays with a stand of hair. She smacks his chest playfully with her hand, but her eyes darken to match his. She went in for another kiss and he meets her, both lost in the moment, But he eventually pulls back, tenderly kissing her before bringing her into a tight hug. Her heart falls a bit and she feels her insides ache to be as physically close to him as they were a few weeks ago.

 

“I would love to Molly, but I do have much to do before our holiday starts tomorrow,” Sherlock says with regret  “Once we are there, we will be free of the burden of London. Be patient with me until then?” he asks. “Plus, you have shopping to do.”

 

She raises an eyebrow at him and then frowns as she gets what he is saying.

 

There’s the Sherlock face she knows, irritated.

 

”Oh, don’t frown at me. Not my idea, though I agree with Mycroft, as much as those words taste terrible in my mouth. He has a personal stylist meeting you outside the Knightsbridge station,” he says with a big smile. He is trying to make it convincing. “Besides, he is trying to be sweet in his own way.”

 

Molly’s jaw drops a bit.  There were nothing but high end stores, including bloody Harrod’s, over there. N _o_ Marks and Spencer’s for her _,_ she thinks.

 

“Looking the part will keep suspicion away that it is you. I cannot promise there won’t be interest, but it will be more in the line of ‘who is the stunning blonde woman on his ar?’’ Plus, you deserve a shopping afternoon. A treat before the holiday.”

 

Molly sighs. “It's a poor excuse, but I’ll take it.” A darker part of her mind wants to latch onto a deeper, more unsettling meaning behind it all, but she pushes that away and buries her face in his chest for the moment. He knows that her thoughts have turned dark and it makes him hold her a bit tighter. When she lifts some of the pressure and moves back, he kisses the top of her head, then her forehead.

 

“I will see you in the morning, picking you up at your flat in a cab. Then it's on to Heathrow and fresher air for us both. Proper holiday,” he smiles warmly. “I love you.”

 

She smiles back, trying to hide the way her thoughts are turning.“Yes, proper holiday. See you in the morning. I love you, too.” And with that, she turns to leave. Both feel the ache that separation now gives them, but duty calls.

 

-:-

 

Molly checks her Facebook absently while waiting for the assigned stylist to meet her. Like all things related to Mycroft, they arrive at 13:00 on the dot. Molly is taken aback when the woman approaches her.  

 

“Hello Molly,” she says, offering her a slender hand with a bright white smile. “My name is Gemma Smith, it is wonderful to meet you.” She is about 5’10” and stunning, polished from head to toe, ginger hair just below her shoulders in perfect waves.  Molly feels herself shrink standing next to her, but she senses a kindness in her voice and it helps assure her.

 

“Molly Hooper.” Molly offers her hand back and gets a strong handshake in return.

 

“Sorry, being as I work with police and dead bodies I have never had much occasion for fashion,” Molly apologizes as they walk “I mean going out with friends and such, sure, but well…”

 

“It’s okay, Molly.” Gemma shakes her head bit and smiles reassuringly. “I go home and put on pyjamas the same as you and watch telly. I just have nice clothes and a job that pays for them.”

 

 _And a bloody model’s body,_ Molly thinks to herself.

 

But as they peruse shops, Molly becomes more comfortable with Gemma. _She could charm anyone_ , she thinks, and finds herself enjoying having someone make most of the decisions regarding clothing.

 

Gemma asks questions about comfort, tastes, colors, and brands. Molly is sure this is for business only, not her trying to make friends, but Molly finds her company very pleasant and genuine. There is a hint of the flare for life that Mary had and it makes Molly miss her for a moment.  

 

“Look, you love color and patterns, and you are eclectic. I don’t want to change that but let’s sophisticate it a bit, okay?” Gemma assures Molly. ,

 

 _Well, at least it isn’t going to be court clothes or a drastic step away from my usual._ Though she wouldn’t mind that. Her own skin seemed to bother her more these days and she relishes looking in the windows as they pass and seeing a different haircut and color, like seeing another person. She cannot shed her skin, but she can change the outside and maybe find a new person out of it.

 

In Harrods, they browse through cocktail dresses. She finds plenty that are obviously sexy but she can’t see herself being comfortable in them. Gemma makes her try on one. Molly shakes her head. ”No, I am not sure that a low cut v half way down my chest is for me.”

 

Gemma narrows her eyes in thought. “Hmm, let me look one more time for you. Stay here.”

 

She comes back with a satin sleeveless aubergine dress, boat necked with the most luxurious ruching. Everything about it screams that it can be worn multiple times to a number of occasions, so her practical side likes that and yet, it reminds her of something she can’t quite recall.

 

“Oh,” Molly says out loud with emotion.

 

Gemma beams, “Well, I didn't expect that. It's not most flashy of dresses, but there is an element of luxury to it. And that fabric under a man’s hand, well...” She giggles a bit.

 

Molly goes red-cheeked. Gemma says plainly, “Secret's safe with me. Let’s try it on,” handing her the dress and nudging her into the dressing room.

 

Molly slips it on and zips as much as she can, but gets help from Gemma who waits outside the dressing room. Her mind flashes to a future thought of Sherlock helping her in and out of the dress, and she can feel herself turn red again. But nonetheless, Gemma is right. As she looks in the mirror, Molly can see the fabric is luxurious, slinky against her skin and hugging her curves. _I have hips?_ She hasn’t seen them in awhile. And the color, _well, there it is_. It reminded her of her favorite shirt of Sherlock’s. This is a sexy dress without being obvious. She takes a deep breath, and smiles at Gemma who was biting her lip.

 

“I’ll take it,” Molly says confidently.

 

“Victory!’ Gemma smiles big and bites her bottom lip again. “If I didn’t know you were with him, I would ask you out myself. That fits you like it was bespoke,”  she says while scanning around Molly, checking the fit. Molly pulls a face that is odd instinctively, though she takes the statement from Gemma as a compliment. Gemma softens her face in response, “Sorry, bit too much honesty there. But if nothing else, it should give you confidence in how he will see you in that dress, right?”

 

Molly nods. “You are gorgeous, and I am flattered. But I am straight as a pin I am afraid,” she admits with a reassuring smile.

 

Gemma laughs a bit to lighten the mood. ”Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And you are in love, that is obvious. And who wouldn’t be, at that one you got? I might be gay, but I am not blind. Congratulations on that catch.”  

 

Molly blushes and smiles fondly.

 

Gemma smirks sheepishly, “I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable though. I have a type, what can I say.”

 

Molly half laughs, “I know exactly what you mean, having a type.”

 

Gemma cheerfully changes the subject. “Now onto casual outfits and perhaps a bathing suit?” Molly looks at the dress price tag and chokes and coughs at the 825 pound price tag. Gemma grabs her arm to steady her, and shakes her head, both looking at each other through the mirror. “You are in with the Holmes now, money doesn’t mean the same.” Molly drops the tag and nods, but still feel the shock of the moment.

 

-:-

 

Molly stumbles into her flat, arms full of bags and her new dress. She laughs thinking of how Gemma had thought she was cute, but with no time to focus on anything else as she has to pack. She really does need a hanging bag, but she had looked up methods to pack for no wrinkles, and also she assumes she can get the dress pressed when she arrives in Stockholm. Everything feels quiet in her flat and she does not want the thoughts to fill her head again that she has successfully pushed away most of the day.  She knows Sherlock might be busy, but she risks a text anyway.

 

**I hope I get everything packed in this carry on bag since you insist we don’t check any luggage-MH**

 

**I have all confidence in you...how was shopping?-SH**

 

**Lovely, just what I needed. She works for Mycroft or just hired? Might have a new girlfriend if this doesn’t work out ;)-MH**

 

She grins to herself with that tease.

 

**Girlfriend? I’ll fight her for you if I need to. But I am not surprised. That blonde hair really does suit you. You continue to surprise me, please never stop-SH**

 

Molly laughs to herself a bit and he starts to write again before she can respond.

 

**You should get some sleep, Molly. I wish I was there tonight but alas chasing a couple more things down with John before we leave. Forgive me that. You’ll have my arms tomorrow. Good night xxx-SH**

 

**Stay safe, please. Good night xxx-MH**

 

She hopes she doesn’t need them tonight, like she had one night, her body wrecked from crying. It had happened not long after their confessions. She had called and he had come, no questions asked. Held her from the minute she met him at the door until she made him leave the next afternoon. Made sure she ate and drank, and sat in silence as she needed. She reminds herself of these moments when she doubts. Its something he would have been incapable of years ago.  With those thoughts, she wills herself into a fitful sleep.

  



	2. Bad Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Sherlock arrive in Sweden and find that London was a wonderful distractor of deeper issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stockholm! So I wanted this story based in reality so I found a real hotel for them to stay at. Its the Lydmar hotel and they are staying in the extra large room. It is gorgeous very much both their tastes, look at it here https://lydmar.com/rooms/x-large/. Super expensive though but nothing but the best for Molly, right?  
> I'll be using this hotel some more in the fic so look around on the site a bit.  
> Again I want them to just have a good time but reality is they both have a lot of baggage. But they'll be a fun sight seeing chapter soon i promise :)  
> I was going to post tomorrow but I am traveling so thought best to go ahead and post now. Enjoy! hopefully will have next chapter next week.

“Excited yet?” Sherlock asks expectantly.

 

He greets her like a schoolboy headed out on an excursion, near giddy as he stands at her door, holding out a coffee for her. Molly yawns involuntarily, “Yes or might be after I get some coffee.” She takes the coffee from him and smiles sleepily as he kisses her quickly on the lips. He searches her face for a moment and then looks around at her flat.

 

“I’ll get your bag. Got everything you need? Passport being the most important,” He sees her bag and pauses at the offensive colour, but shakes away the thought and grabs it for her.

 

Once in the cab, they settle into their usual position of her settling her head against his shoulder and his hand on her thigh. It is a comfort for both as they head into unfamiliar circumstances. She had a weekend in Scotland with Tom and she went to Spain and France with friends. But this was travel with Sherlock Holmes. She was briefed on all that comes with that. The more she thought about it the more unnerving it was, and even more considering they weren’t even officially dating? Or were they? Neither had really said, they just were and everyone in their lives went on as if it was the most natural thing. But they both knew it wasn’t in a lot of ways.

 

Sherlock puts on the face of happiness and excitement, but in all truth, he was nervous as her. She’s had proper holidays. Had he ever taken one since he was a child? He planned out most of the details and he hopes that she genuinely has a wonderful time. But they both are starting to feel the pressure of all the words unsaid. The drudgery of beginning air travel was luckily not the same as most travelers, with Mycroft offering his plane, for safety reasons of course.

 

Molly grins and bit her lip as she boards, having never flown on a private jet. It was all too fantastical really, and she feels overwhelmed. She even forgets for a moment that she does not like flying.

 

“This is much nicer than cramming ourselves in economy,” she laughs as he hands her a glass of champagne, holding her gaze for a moment. She pushes away an inappropriate thought about the mile high club and breaks his gaze. He smirks to himself, catching that small second of her eyes darkening and delights a bit in his own mind of the gasp Mycroft would have known they had sullied his plane with such acts.

 

“To Sweden,” he raises his glass to hers and taps it lightly.

 

“To Sweden,” she bites her bottom lips and grins.

 

It all felt too extravagant, but Sherlock is a man of taste Molly knows. The champagne felt like liquid sunshine going down and she hopes it would steady her nerves on the flight.

 

She let him know she hated flying so he held her hand firmly while letting her watch a film on her phone to keep her distracted. The flight was only two and half hours, time enough for Sherlock to work out several cases which he emailed results to John once they deplaned. In the cab to the hotel, she holds his hand again and he is content. The brief fresh air seems to refresh them both as well and she becomes quite joyous looking at the sights as they pass them. She rattles off random facts about Stockholm she knows excitedly. Anyone else it might have driven Sherlock mad, but he finds it delightful from her.  As they pulled up to a pretty bright white building across from the water, Sherlock steps out, pulling Molly out with him. He let go of her hand intending to grab her bag along with his but she insisted on carrying the shoulder duffel herself. Sherlock let her, besides, _it is a ridiculous shade of pink better suited for her_ , he thought. Sherlock grabbed his own luggage and grabbed her hand again to lead her into the intimate and stylish lobby. Molly’s eyes widen as she scans the room.

 

 _Bloody hell this place is posh,_ she muses to herself, _No traditional Swedish minimalism for us here._ Molly became self-aware of the casual and slightly frumpy clothes she had on from the flight and pulls her bag in front of her. Sherlock, of course, looks sharp in a dark blue suit and light blue shirt. She feels better as she sees its a bit wrinkled from the trip on the back. Sherlock is aware of her marveling behind him as she looks around the lobby. He grins to himself.

 

Sherlock knew the head of security at the hotel from a case and he owed Sherlock a favor. The manager of the hotel owed Mycroft something similar so the cost was significantly lower than the 1,500 pounds converted a night. So Sherlock splurged on the largest room available. He needs to see her face light up when they arrived and he is not disappointed in her current reactions.

 

Formalities and fake names are given at the front desk, Sherlock and Molly precede to the room. They both sense a nervous anticipation from each other, but both stay quiet as Molly follows Sherlock to the elevator.  Molly jumps a bit when the security detail met them at the elevator on their floor. She reflects to herself, _I wonder if I’ll ever get used to it._

 

Sherlock gives the guard instructions in Swedish. He wants to make clear not to disturb them. Molly stands slightly behind him waiting for the exchange to complete. She had done a rush job learning some basic phrases of Swedish but it had a kinship to English when spoken. She hears “liv eller död” and deduces that meant they were to leave them alone except life or death situations. Molly smiles to herself in spite of her nerves at the thought of being alone with Sherlock on a proper holiday. Sherlock senses her anxiety and perhaps wants to steady his own. He reaches out behind as he finishes the conversation to seek her hand. Molly takes it willingly. Her heart races for a moment and she declares to herself, _Do not ever get used to this. Never take it for granted._

 

Molly shifts her bag on her shoulder as they arrive at the room and releases his hand. Sherlock lays the key and the beep sounds so loud on the quiet empty hotel floor. She hopes the flight and travel were the only reasons she was jumpy and sensitive. Sherlock walks in ahead of her, obstructing her view, but as he turns to the side to drop his bag, Molly gasps as the massive room came into view. Sherlock beams at her reaction, those large brown eyes wide with astonishment and mouth agape.

 

 _Yes, it did have the effect I wished for,_ he assures himself.

 

Molly let her bag slip haphazardly down to the floor as she passes the back of the bed into the sitting area. Everything was so alluring. Sophisticated but still eclectic and fun. Her favorite colors, mocha browns, yellows, and dark teals. She runs her finger gingerly along the back of the sofa, taking in the view at the ceiling height windows. Sherlock had followed her quietly and she did not realize he is right behind her to her right, she was so entranced by the boats on the water.

 

“Oh Sherlock you shouldn’t have,” she whispers to herself.

 

Sherlock leans in over her shoulder, and replies in a velvety voice, “ I would never do anything less.”

 

She did not jump at his deep voice, so close to her ear. She stiffens nonetheless. Internally her mind begins to race with reprimands at her reactions.

 

_Fuck, Molly. You have slept with this man in your bed. You have had sex, though yes maybe it’s been a few weeks but still. You have confessed you love each other. Why are you acting as if this is new?_

 

But she knows what it is, them away on a holiday away from their safe places of retreat in London. There are no cases, no dead bodies, and no friends here. No responsibilities to be godparents to Rosie. Just them alone within a gorgeous quiet room stuffed with elephants.

 

It had indeed been weeks since that day she had enough. Parts of 221b had been repaired but it was only the reception room, a lavatory and parts of the kitchen to be functional on that day. Sherlock was staying with John and had still been up to this trip. He had not been back to her flat except to sit and watch telly to relax after rough days, at times falling asleep with his head on her lap. Sherlock had also been busy wrapping up loose ends with his sister and family, and new cases. Greg Lestrade always had plenty of work for them both and she had finished a few days of court as well. It had all felt so normal again despite their confessions. Well, normal was relative. The stolen kisses in the lab, pressed against each other in their temporary goodbyes. The smiles and occasional awkward flirts. They had managed a few dinners where they mostly talked about work and his hand sat comfortably on her thigh in the cabs on the way home with her head against his shoulder. They made love immediately after their confessions, desperate and hungry for each other.  But energy and time had pushed them into a different physical comfort now, and it allowed doubt to creep into Molly’s mind. _He brought you here, that should be answer enough?_ But nothing is ever that simple with Sherlock Holmes.

 

“Honour me this,” she asks timidly, turning and looking up into his eyes. It was their safe phrase and Sherlock’s heart skips a beat for a moment staring back in those brown eye searching him. A phrase they had agreed on when they needed the bare truth from each other. Sherlock’s eyes soften as he takes her hand gently. Leading her around to the couch he guides her to sit down. He hopes no matter what she asks he can answer it not only honestly but with the correct words. _Words don’t always seem to come out right around Molly, don’t be an arse,_ he reminds himself.

 

Molly looks down at his hands and begins to instinctually rub the one holding hers. She can feel his gaze on her, expectant and merciful. The silence is deafening and she can hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Sherlock feels and hears the same. He takes in a deep breath to give some sort of noise to the room.

 

"What are we, Sherlock?” Molly finally mumbles, still look at their hands like she’ll find an answer there.

 

Silence.

 

Sherlock’s mind begins to dash between all his options, working out each scenario and its ending. He is sad to think his mind continues to assume most will end with him being slapped.

 

 _You know better than that,_ he reminds himself.

 

Here in this beautiful room, the air hangs heavy as Molly waits. She looks up at him to gauge the reaction and sees panic.

 

 _Oh shit,_ she thinks, _I scared him._

 

Part of her relishes it, the part that always feels the need to find the upper hand with him. Otherwise, he would have all control, mind body and soul. But doesn’t he, she resigns to herself.

 

Sherlock swallows hard and tries to articulate his thoughts.

 

 _Say it anyway, we have to be honest_ , he commands himself.

 

“Molly, please hear me when I tell you this and do not assume anything unkind by it,” Sherlock pleads, squeezing his eyes shut as he speaks.

 

She allowed her face to fall into a look of concern, but she does not flinch and Sherlock continues.

 

“Your question is a snare, Molly,” Sherlock says plainly. “You ask a question you want me to tell the answer to first once again. I could ask the same of you, What are we, Molly? He smiles softly at her in an attempt to let her know this is not the start of a fight but rather a discussion.

 

Molly still furrows her brow, “ Sherlock…please let’s not go in circles” she sighs, “I do not have the stomach for it today.”

 

Sherlock matches her sigh, looking down as he stands up from the sofa. Molly searches his face, so far above her. It reminds her of all her misgivings. Sherlock deduces her thoughts as they shift internal. He turns his back for a moment, walking toward the window and looking out.

 

In a breath, he turns again toward her. “Honour me this,” he asks “What are your doubts? Speak them frankly. Neither of us are children in our first school yard crush.” He risks a small smile.

 

Molly keeps her brow furrowed and she begins to bite her lip. “Why are words so difficult with us?”

 

Sherlock frowns. _What does she mean?_

 

“Sherlock, it's been weeks and we haven’t discussed anything. We desperately told each other we loved each other, had sex, made a vow of honesty and then proceeded to break it every chance we got.”

 

She continues her voice raising, and breaking.

 

“Everything is awkwardness, except in your arms” She confesses, ache growing in her chest. “Elegant in touch but bumbling when it comes to everything else. I cannot be satisfied that it is just our personalities we…”

 

Sherlock interrupts her, looking at her with earnest hope “Molly, that is the truth. Please face the fact that we are an experiment for both of us.”

 

Molly visibly flinches at the word “experiment” as if he had struck her and Sherlock leaps to come back to her on the couch. He attempts to grab her hands, but she refuses, tears finding a way to her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.

 

Sherlock is drowning, his lungs and throat filling up to near choking . Why couldn’t they just come and enjoy a beautiful holiday, but she is here crying and that ache in his chest swells.

 

“Molly, please” he whispers hoarsely, grabbing the sides of her head. He attempts to bring his forehead to hers and blessedly she lets him.

 

Molly feels nothing but pain in the pit of her stomach, but the idea of refusing his touch again is beyond her strength. She wonders _even if he asked me to kill, if he asked please, if I could refuse_.

 

He closes his eyes, tightly to keep his own tears at bay.

 

“I promise I won’t use that word again. I know better. I am sorry,” Sherlock breaths out desperately.

 

He pauses a moment, soaking in the physical contact that grounds them both.

 

Sherlock pulls his head back, and his hands down her jawline. Molly feels the loss like a blanket slipping off, and she keeps her eyes closed to hold onto the feeling.

 

Placing a finger under her chin, he coaxes her gently to raise her head. She relents but with eyes still squeezed shut. Molly is afraid to open her eyes. _He will win, he’ll always win…and he should now,_ Molly reminds herself.

 

“Molly, look at me,” He speaks with quiet authority. She opens her eyes, all red from strain and tears spill out she tries to say something but her voice hitches. She notices the tears at the corners of those blue eyes that see everything. She reaches up to his face and the softness in his jaw calms her.

 

“We are working to prove our hypothesis,” he begins urgently “And we know we have to do bad science here, skewing  the data and facts to fit our narrative. Because that is the only way any relationship works. We have to fight for that narrative. We have to know that the truth it finds is all that matters. That the hypothesis is correct, we just have to get the proof in an illogical way.”

 

Molly in spite of herself finds the corners of her lips upturning. She looks down, she feels she can speak better not lost in his eyes and the smile deepens more. “Everything you say makes no sense at all…” She looks back at him with resolve “and that's how I know it makes the most sense of anything either of us have said.”

 

Sherlock licks his lips and risks it all, bringing his lips to hers and envelops them. Molly quickly matches his fervor. In this, there is no awkwardness. No hesitation. He feels sorry that he had not done this enough in London. Molly has the same regret and they both work in that moment to correct that error. Their hands find their own work to do, pawing at each other as the kisses multiply. Sherlock leans her back against the arm of the sofa, and moves his attention to her neck, down to her collar bone. Molly moans softly, but suddenly pulls his face up to hers so she can look in his eyes. He goes to kiss her but she stops him.

 

“I love you Sherlock Holmes, “ she declares “I’ll keep saying it. I’ll keep saying so we know it's true.”

 

He beams back her, his Molly, all big brown eyes shining for him and wrapped in his arms.

 

“I love you Molly Hooper”, Sherlock lifts a hand to brush back a strand of hair that had fallen across her face.

 

“Sherlock?”

 

“Yes, Molly?”

 

“I am absolutely starving, can we get some food?” Molly giggles.

 

Sherlock laughs, kisses her once more and leans back off her. He scales the back of the low sofa with one hand and grabs the phone off the desk, beginning a room service order for them in swedish. Molly wished she was as fluent as him in so many languages. French and Spanish, she could manage pretty well and could fake parts because she knows Latin. She had a cursory amount of German, but Swedish was certainly different.

Sherlock was smiling as he was ordering items, looking at Molly and back at the phone. She hears him rattle off a few things, and grins when she heard "pomme frites”.

 

 _Of course, you order chips,_ she laughs in her head, ignoring a memory gnawing at her happy thoughts.

 

Sherlock pauses a moment as he is asked about drinks by the staff. “Drycker? Låt mig fråga,” he relays to the person on the other end. He pulls his head away from the receiver and asks Molly, “What would you like to drink?”

Molly thinks for a second. “Still water and oh, some tea would be lovely about now.”

Sherlock nods in agreement and begins again, “Min flickvän kommer ha kranvatten och te. Jag kommer att ha samma, tack.”

 

Molly has been paying close attention to Sherlock in case she could suss out what he was speaking. When she hears ‘min flickvän,' her heart skips a beat. She had read that in a book of phrases she looked at.

 

_My girlfriend, he actually said it._

 

Molly‘s surprise must have worked its way outwardly to her face, Sherlock was now staring at her as he finished the call, setting the receiver down without looking at it.

 

 _How is he so bloody smooth about such things_ , she asks herself.

 

I _am glad that phone went on the receiver correctly otherwise I would have looked like an idiot because the only thing I was thinking about was kissing her, wait why am I thinking about it I should do it. I am an idiot._

 

Sherlock shakes off his inner dialogue, staring at Molly’s mouth slightly open, and goes around the desk, finding her mouth once again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Mouse9 for ever constant patience and beta work for me.


	3. Waterloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock surprises Molly with a trip to a certain museum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Mouse9 for her encouragement and beta work as always. Enjoy! I made it fluffy!

Sherlock and Molly snog on the couch until the knock on the door forces their separation. But both are grateful for the spread of food before them. Empty stomachs aren’t meant to discuss the emotions they had already brought forth. They launch into the food, finding a comfortable silence, and small smiles to each other. With their hunger sated, they start a conversation again.

 **“** How’s the tea?” he asks plainly.  

“Serviceable,” she smirks.

He laughs. “Well, at least it is hot.”

Silence again. And neither know if these moments are a sign of progress or regression.

“So... dinner plans?” Molly breaks the quiet.

“Yes, I thought of a restaurant just down from the hotel would a good choice so perhaps we can retire to the room easily once finished,“ his eyes darken at the last of the phrase and she feels the heat pool in her stomach with his look.

She takes a deep sip of her tea, feeling her cheeks warm.

 _You know we don’t have to wait until then,_ she pleads in her head.

“But first things first, we have a museum to go to,” Sherlock changes demeanor to a cheery one.

Molly shifts her thinking to match his cheer, “Oh, sure I mean it is a holiday after all. Which museum? The National Museum perhaps?”

Sherlock grins and waves his hand, “It's a surprise, don’t try to guess.”

Molly raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he reproaches playfully, “I planned for this holiday as a diversion and I promise you will enjoy this.” He grins as he takes her hand, and leads her up from their seat.

Molly finds herself smirking to match his grin and her heart lightens.

“Ok, Sherlock, surprise me.”

 

When the cab arrives in the front of the building, Sherlock is still grinning, but his face falls as Molly’s mouth is only gaping.

“You listen to ABBA every time when you are getting dressed to go out, I assumed you would enjoy this? Did I err?” he asks earnestly.

Molly snaps out of her stun and chides him, “Ok we are going to discuss later how you know that I listen to this music when I am going out.”

Sherlock just smiles devilishly back at her.

“But honestly, this is the best surprise ever,” she grabs his shirt collar and pulls him into a quick kiss.

She pauses, frowning again against his mouth and pulls back.

“But there is no way you want to do this. It’s an interactive exhibit about ABBA. That ABBA. Are you sure? I wonder if I should drug test you, I mean, really. I will be happy to go by myself and you can go enjoy-”

He cuts her off, “Molly, stop. I want to enjoy this with you. You love the band, and I love you. That is enough.”

It is firm, but kind in its tone and she swallows whatever words of protest she was considering.

“OK, just let you know, we are singing so I hope you're prepared, “ She laughs and grabs his hand, dragging him into the museum.

“Wait...singing?” he asks hesitantly she pulls him in the door.

 

In the end, it is hard to say who is having more fun. Sherlock, engrossed in the recording interactive exhibits and the instrument mixing, and Molly beaming at everything. Sherlock finds himself amused at the complexity of even simple dance songs, but still feels he improves the samples given to him. He finds “Lay All Your Love On Me” needed very little improvement. Very much like a hymn in structure.

 

Molly gushes over the costumes on display. Sherlock behaves and bites his tongue on how gaudy they are. But in the exhibit that allows her to virtually try on the costumes, Sherlock cannot help thinking she makes them less offensive.

 

 _Maybe it's time spandex leotards came back in fashion in a way,_ he contemplates.

 

He is lost in that consideration when Molly drags him to the studio setup. He groans a bit, but she jokingly swats his arm and grins as she scrolls on the screen through the songs on an iPad.

“Well, there is the classic, Dancing Queen,” she asks.

“Um, no. Pick something else. We cannot be that obvious,” he replies.

“Hmm, Waterloo is lots of fun,” she bites her lip.

To move along the process, he agrees.

“Ok, excuse my terrible singing,” he solicits.  

“Same goes for me,” she adds.

Headphones on, Molly selects the song and smirks at Sherlock. He presents a false grimace and she playfully smacks his chest.

Sherlock is pleasantly surprised by Molly’s voice and her ability to stay on key, though the lyrics tripped them both up in one section, producing small giggles from both.

More than anything he relishes seeing her massively genuine smile grow as she sings. For a moment there is no pain hidden behind it and his heart soars. The meaning of the song is not lost on either one of them.

 

_And how could I ever refuse?_

_I feel like I win when I lose_

 

He sings those lines, staring at her waiting for her to meet his gaze. Molly turns her head from the screen with the lyrics and amazed by the earnest look he gives. Her eyes twinkle as she sings,

 

_Waterloo_

_Couldn’t escape if I wanted to_

_Waterloo_

_Knowing my fate is to be with you_

_Waterloo_

_Finally facing my Waterloo_

 

When the song was over, they continue to hold each other's gaze for another breath before Sherlock makes his move. Placing his hands behind her head, he pulls her mouth to his and kisses those lips that sang so sweetly for him. In a later hour, he will question why he loved the song so much, because comparing falling in love to the battle of Waterloo seems the height of absurdity. But he only has to imagine Molly singing it and he finds himself grinning.

 

As they part, they perceive an audience of a small toddler girl giggling at them. But luckily her parents are engrossed elsewhere and do not see the couple. Molly and Sherlock smile at each other sheepishly, wave at the little girl and slink out of the booth. Once at a safe distance, they both laugh at the moment.

 

“We should head back to the hotel to get ready for dinner anyway, “ Molly affirms.

 

Nodding, Sherlock takes her hand, carefully lacing their fingers together and leads her out of the museum, hailing a cab via his mobile with the other hand.

 

Molly grips his hand, savoring every inch of his skin against hers. Despite it being a warm summer evening, a breeze blows by and chills her to a shiver. Sherlock feels the shiver vibrate his hand and he pulls her in front of him, to block the wind. Molly closes her eyes as she leans into him. She knows these moments are what she needs to focus on. That he is trying so hard to protect her, to love her, to make her happy. But that small awful voice in her head worms its way in every time.

 

She looks up at his face and sees the lines around his eyes crease. She wishes she could deduce like him, a point of almost like mind reading. She sees the concern and it does not set her at ease. But his hand on the small of her back, rubbing it softly, contrasts those feelings.

 

Sherlock is inspecting a man sitting on a bench about 200 yards away out of the corner of his eye. Something is off, out-of-place about him but he cannot be sure of what. The man stands and walks in the opposite direction soon as the cab arrives and Sherlock shoves the assessment to further place in his mind. But he does not delete it.

 

 _Focus on what is important for now,_ he reminds himself.

 

Once back in the room, Molly feels the weariness of fighting that voice and the mixed emotions of the day. _Certainly not feeling the confidence I need to wear that dress,_ she thinks.

 

The hotel had it pressed and hung in the cupboard next to his suits. He had seen the dress but that was on the hanger. _It's another thing to see it on her,_ he thinks.

 

“Sherlock, I think I’ll take a bath before we go to dinner. Sort of wash off a bit of the travel,” she says absently.

“I was thinking of getting some fresh air for a bit. I’ll leave you to it and I’ll be back in time to get ready for dinner,” he speaks as absent as she, both subliminally expressing a need of space for their own contemplation.

 

Molly starts the bath,  and Sherlock leaves the room noiselessly. He finds the terrace at the hotel, blessedly empty except for the bartender prepping fruit and taking inventory. The two men nod in acknowledgment and proceed to ignore the other.

 

Both Molly and Sherlock slip into surrounding warmth, him a place in the sun and her the hot water, and lose themselves in thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its so fluffy! and then I did a bit of a drop there at the end. Sorry, it's just how I work. Prepare thyselves for the next chapter. All the feels. Next week:)


	4. The Sit Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes inside his mind and finds an old friend there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The setting for this scene is a real setting. It is on the terrace at the Lydmar Hotel. If you google search Lydmar Hotel Terrace and go to images, there are some 360s and other wonderful photos. Sherlock is going to be sitting at the furthest corner.

The evening sun is still strong and hot in the summer hours. On the terrace filled with umbrellas and cafe tables, Sherlock finds the table at the furthest corner not under any cover.

 

He slips off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves careful on his linen shirt, perfectly folding to not wrinkle or bunch the fabric.

 

Sherlock leans his head back against the building, and soaks in the warmth, listening to bikes, cars, and conversations on the street below, and then block them out.

 

In the heat, his mind slips into his stores of information and began planning all the scenarios for this evening and the coming days. He thinks of that man on the bench he saw but it must go back into a folder because he has nothing else to go off with it. He has just put that clue away when he hears a voice in his palace. One he had not heard in a while. He discerns blonde and teeth as she comes into focus in the sun before him.  

 

It was a voice of burden and joy.

 

“Planning on a tan before dinner?” Mary Watson smirks.

 

He half smirks back, looking at her through slanted eyes.

 

“Sunlight helps the brain produce more serotonin. Consider it a low dose of Prozac, if you will,” Sherlock answers with feigned mirth.

 

“Mind if I join? Perhaps you can conjure me a whisky on the rocks in your mind as well,” She takes a seat across from him at the table.  

 

He grins as he obliged her request, after all, she is in his head, even as well conjured as she is before him.

 

She takes a sip from the glass before her, closing her eyes, and throws her head back in evident enjoyment.

 

“Excellent choice as always, Sherlock. How I missed these,” she turns her head down a bit, half smiling in that way she always did when she had an agenda on her mind.

 

Sherlock stares at her, fighting that ache for his friend that is wanting to settle deep in his chest.

 

Mary looks off toward her left toward the rail for a breath but looks back at Sherlock, her blue eyes meeting his.

 

“Why are you here, Sherlock?” she asks with a breezy air as she maintains her stare over her glass, taking a larger sip.

 

“You want a long answer or a short one?” he tests with some annoyance.

 

“Long answer always, Sherlock,” she laughs. “I am just here to help you and you know that. Fighting me would only be fighting yourself.”

 

He wishes at that moment more than anything that she was real. He can make a copy of her, but how he could use the real thing across from him. She would know exactly how to keep him out of trouble.

 

He swallows and pushes those thoughts away.

 

“I am here for Molly...and myself,” he smiles. “London is full of too many distractions. So I brought her here to work on pinpointing our feelings...and to...” he pauses, not sure if he has really expressed emotionally even to himself what he had planned.

 

“I know how you feel, dear,” she smiles sadly, “Letting people in is awful, isn’t it? Sometimes you think you’d rather take a bullet to the chest,” she laughs.

He shoots her a wounded look and Mary rolls her eyes, sitting back in her chair dramatically.

“Don’t start with me, you are a morbid bastard like us all,” she pronounces, “It’s why we all found each other.”

 

“Misfits the lot,” she sniffs.

 

He furrows his brow and folds his hands, but allows her to continue.  

“It’s all fair, in the end, I put a bullet in you. I took a bullet in me for you, mind, so I would be even on that if I lived. I’ve been an assassin and you too in a way,” she half-smirks. “Sure you aren’t picking up something while you are here? Stockholm is filled to the brim with it.”

He takes a deep breath, tinged with frustration.

 

“No, I am here to attempt a proper holiday with Molly, to reassure her and to…”

 

Mary cuts him off, her face suddenly falling into sternness.

 

“To fix her? Don’t you attempt that, there’s nothing to fix. At least nothing you can fix,” she lectures him.

 

But her face calms, and she adds “ But I don’t know, I like the idea that you are going to try.”

 

“I cannot make up for lost time but I can make certain of the future…” he pleads, but he pauses when her faces light up suddenly.

 

Mary is staring a hole through him biting her lip, and she leans on the table on her elbows, chin resting on her hands.

“I have seen you compulsively check that item in the bottom of your bag in the room,” she says knowingly. “Canary yellow diamond, gorgeous vintage setting,” she drawled out gorgeous as only Mary would. She enjoyed life so fully he remembers bittersweetly.

 

“Lord you do have impeccable taste. I hope you’ve rubbed off enough on John that his next wife gets the benefit.”

 

Before he can feel any injury at that statement, she changes the subject.

 

“Why imagine me and not John? He is your best friend, right?” she asks.

 

Sherlock half laughs as he looks away from her gaze and to his left.

 

“John is a man of simpler thoughts and processes,” he states.  “And also a moron about such things. You have been down the same roads metaphorically speaking as I have.”

 

He turns back to her, offering the most earnest face he can, “And you were one of my best friends as well.”

He knows this is only in his mind, but he wanted to say it when she was alive. Now was as good as he could do.

 

Mary looks down and over to the side of the rail, big smile to hide deeper things and oh so sad that he feels his heart squeeze in his chest.

 

“So you didn’t tell him what you were going to do on this trip, did you?” She looks back at Sherlock with false concern.

 

“I like to surprise him; it keeps him young,” Sherlock chuckles, and she joins him.

 

They sit in contented silence for a moment.

 

“It’s all so bloody complicated,” she says with a sigh, but then turns thoughtful in her tone. “But ask her anyway. Ask at the worse possible moment if you can. Really throw her off guard, because she is very much on guard,” She states with caution hiding in her voice

 

“Delicate perhaps is the word you are looking for?” he asks.

 

She sneers, “She’s never been delicate. The sooner you push that bullshit out your head the better you will understand her.”

 

He draws back and folds his brow at those words. The part of his mind that knows those isn’t real questions how he knows this.

 

“Then what would you call this state then?” he asks with irritation.

 

“Someone who has been strong all along and for much too long,” she furrows her brow at him. “The hell she has endured to love you. You lived the lie of being dead without having to go on with your life. She had to live as if it was real, she had to watch her friends grieve and die inside. All still while there was a chance you would be killed and she would have to carry the burden of two deaths now,” she expounds.

 

“My God, she is one of the strongest people I have ever met. Organizations I have worked for would scramble over themselves to have someone like her,” she half-jokes.

 

He answers with defeat in his voice, “I know this, don’t admonish me like I am unobservant of that.”

 

She does not relent.

 

“Then why did you allow it? Why her? Such a convoluted way to get into a girl’s heart,” she shakes her head.  

 

“Because I trust her implicitly, and now love her unconditionally. One led to the other,” he wearily admits.

 

“Ah yes, those terrible sentiments that got us both, eh? What did we have without it though?” she adds.

 

“A sense of control. I miss it on some days,” he shrugs.

 

“I’m not touching that statement,” she sniffs.

 

Annoyed, he turns the conversation back to Molly

 

“So what do I do to mend…” he starts, but she stops him.

 

“Oh bloody hell,” she growls .”Look. Do please stop trying to fix things. She is going to fight you all the worse if you do. And it’s going to hurt like hell. She is going to twist in every knife her mind can find because there is rage in there. Every failure you committed cannot be outweighed by every act of love you attempt. You feel that now, and you are correct in that.  You deserve that feeling. You cannot control or rein it in. But the feeling does not stop there; open wounds do heal. She is fighting you because she does trust you. Despite everything, she has unwavering faith in you. Perhaps, that is more important than love in the end. “

 

He stays silent, looking out over the railing,

 

“Be honest, stop treating her with kid gloves,” she pleads.

 

He sucks in his breath through his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, “ I am afraid, Mary.”

 

Her face falls to muted sadness, “Honey, I know. I am in your head, remember? I see it. It's not fair to let you go through assuming you never felt anything, and then to let you feel everything at once. Punch your brother in the face some time for me. If I was here, I’d do it for you.”

 

The thought of Mary punching Mycroft is too delicious and it makes him laugh.

 

Mary gives him a soft smile, “Tell me, Sherlock, tell me why you love her.”

 

His smile matches her softness.

 

“Because we are the same. Not by appearances, or surface matters.  We are very different on paper. She is kind where I appear cruel, she is warmth where I seem cold. Every piece of evidence I deem frivolous, she regards as principal. But in our internal life, we are congruent, bound by duty and care of others. Loyalty unwavering,” he gulps before he finishes the thought.

 

“Who else has loved me so much in spite of my faults? Well, my friends have. But none can I say have loved my faults but she. I know I love hers. Not that my faults are admirable, or hers commendable.  No, we both know they are a completion of the other person. For this, my life is hers now and I have no desire to take it back,” he says leaning forward, leaning his forehead into hands at the release of the emotions into words.”

 

Mary reaches out and caresses his cheek, and if he pushes his mind, he can almost feel it though he knows it's just the breeze. She pulls his face up by a finger under his chin and looks at him straight in the eyes.

 

“You deserve this then. You two have earned each other. Bought and paid for by a lot of hell. Take this little piece of paradise. Expand it and protect it. Let the rest go,” Mary smiles warmly. "Good luck, Sherlock.”

 

He takes a deep breath, holding it in long as he can stand, and exhales. With it, she is gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Mouse9 as always.


	5. Do I Wanna Know?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock takes Molly to a romantic dinner, but its not that simple.

Sherlock returns to the room, heart full and heavy.

 As he enters the room he sees the back of her first, and his breath catches in his throat.

She is struggling to try to get the last of the zipper up, aubergine with a strip of peach skin exposed. Lost in the effect of the dress he pauses. The shape she hides so well in her work clothes draped in a lab coat comes into its full reveal in satin. Lean and supple.

She turns her head over her shoulder to see him staring. They lock eyes neither able to speak in this moment of intimacy. He arrives at her in slow quiet steps and assists with the zipper without prompting. He savors the moment and lets his finger graze her spine sending the tiniest shiver through her. She sucks in her breath, as his lips find the back of her neck.

 She sprayed perfume on right before putting on her dress and his nose drinks it in. _French. Citrus, champagne? cardamom, pepper, and sandalwood. Is that labdanum?_ He tries to recall past memories of her scents. He recalls sweeter scents, flowers, and fruits. Jasmine may be the only note her past scents and this one share. He wonders when she switched and if it was because of him. He contemplates what it would smell like lingering on them both after tonight. All these thoughts pass his mind as he caresses her neck with his bottom lip absently. He spies the flush in her cheeks.

 It takes everything in Molly to not turn and take his lips with hers. But she must turn nonetheless to break the moment before it escalates. Sherlock allows her as he moves his head back and finds his lips curl into a soft smile. His eyes say something different, something more unchaste. Her's reflected the same expression as she finds her hands raise to hold his exposed forearms. He pulls back slowly, feeling her fingers glide across every hair on his arm to holding both her hands. The electricity of the moment shoots up her arms, her neck and to her scalp, tingling. She closes her eyes for a moment to break the spell.

 

“Yes...dinner,” he slowly whispers. He shuts his eyes and shakes his head for a moment.

 

“We have dinner reservations. Let me freshen up, put on a clean shirt and we’ll be on our way,” he says with an affected cheery voice.

 

Molly smiles and nods quickly.

 

Sherlock grabs a white linen shirt from the cupboard he steps into the lavatory to change. Molly wasn’t sure why she felt she should look away, but she ignores that feeling. He quickly makes work of the buttons and his shirt is off. He tosses it on the counter. He can feel her eyes glancing at him, and he half smiles. He pauses a moment, giving all appearances of checking himself in the mirror.

 

Molly nibbles her lips scanning over his slim athletic build. _Bloody hell you know exactly what you are doing,_ she muses.

 

Sherlock grins to himself in the mirror, and quickly puts his arms in the clean shirt, but leaves it unbuttoned as he turns and leaves the lavatory.

 

Molly gulps instinctually.

 

“So we are going to eat at The Verandan. Elevated traditional Swedish, if that is alright with you. I’ll be happy to translate the menu for you thought I am sure they have an English menu,” he says plainly but with mirth in his eyes, as he sees her eyes study his frame. When her gaze turns to his eyes, he is caught.

 

She sucks in her breath, “You are trying to distract me on purpose, aren’t you?” she scolds.

 

Sherlock snickers, “It's only fair. I came into you in that exquisite dress, I had to do something with a similar effect.”

 

Molly playfully rolls her eyes a bit, “Consider yourself accomplished.”

 

He bites his lips happily, buttons and tucks his shirt quickly. He grabs a new jacket and puts his hand out to Molly.

 

“Shall we?” He asks in a low voice.

 

“Yes,” she answers in a near whisper, taking his hand. He pulls her hand up to his lips as he holds her stare and leads her out of their room.

 

Molly feels more eyes on her in the dress and remembers what Sherlock said about him being recognized. She shudders involuntarily at the thought. She sees her reflection in window fronts they pass. She shocks herself every time, not knowing who this reflection is of. Her shock of short blonde hair contrasts even greater with aubergine dress. His hand slides across her satin covered hip as they walk with his arm around her waist.

 

The restaurant is very close to their hotel, just a short walk and Molly enjoys watching the boats as they stroll. The Maître D' shows them to a back table on the porch like front room. Glass windows go to the ceiling brings the city and the water into full view.

“This is gorgeous, Sherlock,” Molly breathes out. Sherlock smiles, drinking in her in that dress, contrasting to the white and gray surrounding them.

“Yes, you are,” Sherlock tries with a smirk.

 

She feels the heat coming to her cheeks at the compliment and she stares down at her menu but that feeling is interrupted by a deep husky voice to her side.

 

Molly is stunned by their waiter. At least 6 foot 3, he towers over the table.  Beyond sharing blue eyes, he is a complete contrast to Sherlock. His dirty blonde hair is neatly cropped and his skin a golden tan. The colors making his eyes stand out all the more. His arm muscles strain against the seams of his crisp white shirt as he lifts his order booklet, then places his arms behind him, Molly watches unconsciously mesmerized.

 

“Hallå. jag heter Thor och jag kommer att ta hand om dig i kväll,” He relays with all warmth with an especially deep voice. Molly stifles a giggle at his name by biting her lip. Sherlock looks up at Thor, at first smiling but his face falls and eyes widen as he fully realizes the man before him.

He glances out the corner of his eye at Molly  and sees her reaction, _why_ _she is biting her lip at him,_ he thinks

He immediately feels his hair rise on the back of his neck.

“Kan du prata engelska för oss? Tack,” Sherlock asks a little too curtly.

 

“ Ah, of course, Mr. Holmes,” Thor replies happily in perfect English. “Big fan of your work, “ he whispers as he leans in grinning at Sherlock. Sherlock manages a false smile.

 

Molly shakes off her trance and turns her attention to Sherlock. She once again stifles a giggle. There is a face she hasn’t seen in a long time. Jealousy was one emotion he could not hide well, and she saw it briefly when she was with Tom.

 

“Thank you...Thor, was it? Well, your parents were certainly clairvoyant,” Sherlock quips with feigned cheeriness and raised eyebrows.

 

If Thor perceives any of the curtness that Molly immediately knows, he never lets on.

 

“Ah yes, thank you. They are lovely people,” he says absently as if he is thinking of them. “My father is as you would say a rascal, but my mother a saintly woman.”

 

Sherlock already regrets attempting small talk and just nods.

 

Molly turns again to Thor and smiles assuredly.

 

“Would you two care for anything to drink?” Thor waits expectantly.

 

“Champagne. A bottle of the Bollinger, please,” Molly says before Sherlock can speak up.

 

“Excellent choice. Let me fetch that while you both look over the menu,” Thor says with a head nod and leaves the tableside.

 

Sherlock stares at Molly for a moment mouth agape but recovers quickly.

 

“I would have ordered something a bit better…” he says with a slight smirk.

 

Molly raises an eyebrow, “To impress me, or Thor?”

 

Sherlock looks incredulous at her. _Was I that obvious?_ he wonders.

 

“He is rather talkative for a European waiter,” Sherlock quips.

 

“Do be nice, he is a warm and friendly person and enjoys talking to people,” Molly chides.

 

“Genuinely friendly,” she adds with emphasis.

 

Sherlock frowns. Much to his annoyance and amazement, Thor is already back at the table before they can get any conversation going further.

 

“Here’s the bottle of Bollinger,” Thor says, presenting the bottle, which Sherlock ignores.  

 

Sherlock attempts to decide which is more useful for him, to watch Molly’s reactions or to keep a direct eye on Thor.

 

“So champagne, celebrating anything special, birthday, anniversary?” Thor asks cheerfully while working opening the bottle

 

“We aren’t married,” Molly says.

 

The bottle pops and Sherlock jumps suddenly very aware of the weight of the box in his jacket pocket.

 

“We came to have a nice, quiet romantic dinner as a boyfriend and girlfriend,” Sherlock says with emphasis on quiet.

 

“Ah well I’ll make sure we don’t sit anyone near you two lovebirds,” Thor adds, as he pours the champagne first for Molly and then Sherlock.

 

Molly took a long sip from her flute while scanning back and forth between the two men.

 

“Thank you, Thor,” She smiles warmly at the waiter.

 

 _Don’t push it too far, but enjoy it a bit,_ Molly reminds herself.

 

 _Resist the urge to call in a favor to take care of Thor,_ Sherlock checks himself.

 

Molly chose the lamb and Sherlock the salmon, and blessedly Thor caught the hint to leave them alone for a bit while they wait for their food.

 

Molly feels self-conscious. She starts a conversation that Sherlock will happily expound on but only absently listens. It had been only a few months they were facing certain death, one unawares and the other under duress.

 

 _How do you go on from there?_ Molly thinks a thought that haunts her often.

 

Sherlock knows she is sliding back into those musings. Her eyes fade and go blank and he feels her slipping away.

 

“I’ve been visiting a therapist,” Sherlock says plainly, eyes studying his glass, his fingers absently rubbing the side of it, watching the bubble float up.

 

He thought in his mind maybe sharing that would be a fact that would help her see he is trying.

Molly raises an eyebrow, and she pauses before saying anything back, not sure if snark or words of comfort are more appropriate. She chooses neither and asks a leading question.

 

“How is that going?” she sips her glass lightly, not sure of the direction of this conversation and looks up at him..

 

Sherlock captures her eyes and stares as if he is trying to read her mind.

 

“I am here, sitting having a romantic dinner in Stockholm with my girlfriend. I would say it is helping, “ He brings his glass to his lips but does not break her gaze, takes a gulp and sets it back down never dropping her gaze. He keeps repeating the word _girlfriend_ for her. Also recommended by his therapist. 

 

She furrows her brow, “Not a psychologist or a psychiatrist?”

 

 _She is avoiding sentiment,_ he contemplates but answers her anyway.

 

He rolls his eyes a bit, “Both only want to stuff me with medications. I need tools to work through my own trauma, not another drug to dull it.” His eyes fall his hands, and he finds he is playing the glass stem unconsciously.  “I’ve done that enough myself to no avail.”

 

Both like where the conversation is going, but find they are interrupted again.

Thor returns to the table with food. He refills Molly’s champagne. Sherlock barely has touched his glass, beyond a prop for him to unconsciously play with.

 

Molly is not sure why seeing Sherlock squirm when Thor arrives tableside both delights and hurts her heart. But the feeling of control she has in the situation is as intoxicating as the bubbly she drinks much too fast. She feels something red hot burning inside her to play a game like he used to do with her in much easier days. She knows he regrets those days. She will regret this one.

She wants to do it anyway.

They eat in relative silence, some small moments and words about the food and the waiter arrives once again. Sherlock reaches out across the table, taking her hand, hoping to catch her eyes, but they veer once again to Thor.

 

Thor asks how the food is, Molly enthuses about the flavors, but Sherlock gives another curt answer. Thor shrugs it off and makes a slight joke about the lamb and an uncle he has with a farm. She laughs, moves her hand to her chin as she leans on the table, engaged in the conversation with the waiter.

 

 _What game is this, what is possessing her to think this way,_ Sherlock ponders to himself.

 

From what Sherlock deduces, Thor is only the friendly sort. A serviceable waiter, but much too talkative. The sort of half clueless kind of man who doesn’t realize his effect on women entirely, at least not consciously. Sherlock dismisses him and any reaction he has.

 

Molly is not the clueless or unconscious sort. She perceives his focus across the table turn to her, his eyes intense as she side glances at him and back to Thor.

 

But a stubbornness persists in her and she gives one last grin at Thor when she replies “We don’t need anything else at this time.“

 

Sherlock narrows his eyes for a moment but lets them soften for her.

 

“So back to the conversation we were having,” he speaks warmly.

 

“Yes, well I am glad you are getting help. How much you have gone through I am sure, it shows growth to find someone you can confide in.”

 

There is the twinge in her voice and he sits up carefully, his shoulders squared.

 

It all comes crashing down on him, the question he wants to ask and yet, _what have I done to earn the right to it yet,_ he contemplates.

 

Molly spies his face fall.

 

Her words held more weight than she intended on the surface, but her internal thoughts were never really good at staying buried. _They always find a way to my dumb face,_ she muses.

 

“Yes...professional help is important as your own training will tell you but I am saying...terribly it seems, that I will not keep anything from you. You mean more than anyone else. Never be afraid to ask me if you need the same,” he speaks expectantly.

 

It is the champagne talking, but she owes him this honesty.

 

“I am not the same women you knew those years ago. I doubt I will ever be again. I am not sure if it for the better or for the worse,” she said with uncertain hanging in her voice.

 

“And I am not the same man, which I am sure you are thankful,” he risks a smirk.

 

“We will change again, I am sure. What becomes of us then?” she asks warily

 

“You ask too much of us. We will face those changes as we always have, with either quiet reverence or fire,” Sherlock says gently, his voice catching a bit as he puts a hand down to subtly reach for his jacket pocket, “We must face our demons we’ve collected to find peace. My entire life I created a whole world to hide a truth. Every needle, every choice was its result. That world is gone. Replaced by my reality. But it is like a sunrise, full of light and promise.”

 

His heart aches to make her his sunny confident Molly again, but without manipulation and lies and flattery. She was beyond that. He knows he is making it is a vow to make her whole again or to help her do that for herself.

 

Molly furrows her brow, but the look in his eyes, it both elates her and frightens her.

 

Before Sherlock gets a hand on the box, Thor is at the side of the table. Sherlock draws in a deep breath through his nose.

 

“Hello again, Thor,” he sighs out.

 

“Oh, perhaps I should come back? Here to get some plates cleared and perhaps dessert?” he asks cheerfully.

 

Sherlock stares at him, and for once Molly keeps her eyes on Sherlock.

 

Just abandon that plan, he sighs internally in frustration.

 

“No thank you, Thor. Just the bill,” Sherlock says with fatigue.

 

Molly glances out the window, making out all the lights reflecting back. _That weariness in his voice._ She was correct, she regrets what game she played in the short term for his reaction and her own power over him. There is something else in his voice that told her he wanted to say much more.

 

Thor wishes them a pleasant evening and Sherlock lays down a pile of cash. Rising, he buttons his jacket top button and offers her his hand to leave.

Molly’s cheeks are mildly flushed due to the champagne and she feels unsteady as she stands up. Sherlock links his arm in hers to brace her up.

 

As they walk out and along toward the hotel, they are quiet for the moment, though their thoughts are loudly ringing in their heads. Molly leans on his arm, finding herself a bit tipsy after she stood up but the night air is very sobering lucikly.

 

“I am not the jealous type…” Sherlock starts.

 

“That’s a lie,” she interrupts.

 

He opens his mouth, but stops.

 

 _She was doing that on purpose, I was right_ , Sherlock thinks. Even having the knowledge he is unsure how he feels about it and allows himself to walk a couple more steps before answering.

 

“Ok maybe I am, but you were doing that on purpose so the evidence you collected is skewed,” he declares.

 

Molly leans her head onto his arm and feels a tinge of regret.

 

“I know, can we just blame the champagne?” she asks softly.

 

“We cannot put all blame there,” he risks.

 

Molly senses a pull in her to gain control of the conversation again, even if a fight happens,  and the other side of her wants to relent. She is unsure which she wants more, but she takes the bait.

 

“Then you have to accept I did it on purpose,” she declares. She is unsure how those words will be taken as they pass by an alley.

 

Suddenly she finds herself being whirling into that  alley and against the side of a building firmly, with Sherlock pressing his whole body against her.

 

Both breathe heavily, and she looks up cautiously catching his gaze. It is unrelenting and his voice is low.

 

“No more games tonight, are we understood?” he asserts.

 

Molly can only nod as she gulps. As her mouth goes agape, he takes her parted lips with his. His kiss is merciless, pressing the back of her head into the brick behind, but so spellbinding she hardly notices. It's all tongue and teeth clashing and biting and his hand slips up the side of her thigh and to her backside, bringing her hips into his. Her hands slip around his waist and her fingers rake across his back.  

 

She loses all time and sensation to him. He feels her body and mind relinquish its self-possession. This elicits a small moan from her and he takes that as his signal.

 

Sherlock bites her lip and releases it as he pulls all his weight away from her slowly.  Molly nearly falls forward and feels the absence like air being sucked from her lungs.

 

He keeps his hands on her hips to steady her. Molly opens her eyes to capture his, and endeavors to move her body back against his, the loss was so great she can think of nothing else but he retains the distance so he can speak briefly.

 

“Are we ready to go back to the hotel now?” he asks in a near whisper.

 

Molly manages a feeble, ”yes” as he turns her toward their destination by her hips, and taking her arm in his once again.

The walk was short though to both it felt like miles as they had to fight every compulsion to repeat what happened in the alley. So much that once they were in the elevator he ran his finger achingly slow along the dress zipper, caressing each fold in the fabric along her spine to her neck before their floor arrived and he walks out ahead of her toward the room. Her ribs strain against the fabric and she tries to catch her breath as she follows after him.

 

Once in the room and the door clicks closed,  she drops her purse on the floor near the door and instinctively rushes to him and wraps her arms around him from behind. He lets her hold him for a breath, but slowly moves her hands away from his waist, and walks away.

 

Molly stands still, arms hanging loose at her sides like a doll.

 

 _Did I really do something wrong,_  she ponders watching him helplessly.

 

He slides his jacket off and hangs it in the cupboard. It is ritual that seems out-of-place to Molly and so leisurely as he arranges the fabric on the hanger.

 

In truth, he is fighting every compulsion because he wants to keep the command he established in the alley. He faces her and detects every nerve firing in her body as he slowly scan from the top of her head, allowing his eyes to wander down, sensing the electricity crackle across the room between them.

 

He finds her eyes and possesses them, and she is transfixed as he walks unhurriedly to where he left her.

 

 _Words, why aren’t words coming out,_ she thinks. That last shred of resistance in her mind falls like a leaf.

 

He arrives at her, only a breath of space between them. His gaze is too much and Molly finds her eyes must drop to his chest.  Her perfume arrests his nose and her heavy breath brushes across the thin fabric of his shirt, causing him to shiver.

The lamp light from the across the room leaves them in muted shadow. The purple satin shifts in its shadow and highlights in the folds as her ribs press against it with each breath.

 

 _She has no control anymore,_ he realizes.  With this, he knows his possession is complete. Molly knows the same and waits for his move. He takes her arms and wraps them around his waist, giving her the permission she desires. Molly finds the best she can manage is gripping his back. He takes her face in his hand, sliding his fingers along her jawline and to the back of her head, finger entwining in her hair slowly as he pulls her head back delicately as he lowers his lips near to hers, so close they are sharing their respirations.

 

Molly shuts her eyes, for his eyes are too powerful, and he smiles. He takes her lips with his, and she whimpers as he makes the kiss tender and gentle with all his restraint. It’s the last gentle thing he can do he knows, and says “I love you.” It's all he can manage as his own desires begin to arrest him. She answers it with an “I love you too” like a blessing to proceed.

He takes his hands from her hair, shifts her arms from his waist to around his neck, and he places his arms around her waist, lifting her up as their lips find their home again with each other as he carries her to the bed.

 

 _I’ll ask her tomorrow,_ Sherlock reminds himself as he presses her into the bed underneath him, finishing what he started in that alley.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor is actually in the top 100 names for boys in Sweden and this one I created does act a bit like his namesake. Maybe we'll see him again.  
> I added new songs to my Sherlolly playlist. Listened to rather sexier stuff. Nick Jonas "Close" on repeat.  
> Thanks to Mouse9 for unending love and support.  
> The title of the fic is from Arctic Monkey's Song by the same title.  
> Next chapter will hopefully be next week.  
> The perfume is real is it called Remarkable People by Etat Libre d’Orange.  
> The restaurant is real and down the street in another hotel.  
> Thor is not real and that makes me sad.


	6. The Game Is Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning after and more words to say

Sunrise in Stockholm came earlier than Sherlock remembered and Molly expected. They forgot to draw the curtain the night before, being so occupied with each other.

 

Molly woke first, the first sunlight hitting her eyes. She still feels the daze of the night before and wonders if it was a dream, _My God what a dream if it was,_ she thinks. But the peacefully sleeping man next to her reminds her that she is and was lucid. She shifts toward him to watch him sleep for a moment, lost in the absurdity of being on holiday with Sherlock Holmes. Memories of last night flood her mind as she follows the lines on his face, down his neck with every freckle, to his collarbone, pausing to smirk as she spies a small love bite there, down to his muscles in his arms laying beside and across his chest rising and falling so softly. She absorbs every detail trying to desperately see if her mind can make a palace like his does, so she can store this up for moments when she needs it the most. Those moments could be five minutes from now or five years; she finds she cannot trust herself on that matter.

 

She sighs, wiping the sleep out of her eyes and she stretches slowly as she shifts to her back, feeling the stiffness from sleeping so deeply. She closes her eyes in the stretch, putting her arms above her head, unaware he is awake. Before she can open her eyes, he is upon her. His weight shifts onto her softly but suddenly and she squeaks from the shock. Before any discussion of the night before breakfast or even morning breath, though all those things flash through her mind, his lips are on hers. They both melt into each other for a moment before he smiles, breaking the kiss. She opens her eyes to find his.

 

“Good morning,” he says softly.

 

“Good morning,” she replies, biting her lip.

 

He lifts off her, untangling himself from her and the duvet, and sits up beside her. He looks to the windows to the east and squints,

 

“Bloody hell we forgot to draw the curtains,” he says with a grimace.

 

“Yes but we were having amazing sex and then we were exhausted, to say the least,’ she giggles lightly.

 

“I would say making love, but you have your words I have mine,” he quips.

 

She pauses thinking of the difference, and she knows he is right. That was not just affection or lust. It was all-consuming for both of them, a complete surrender of every part of them, body and soul. Truly she knows that she has never experienced that before. _Close, sure, but not that intense,_ she muses. And despite being still sleepy, she feels the pull to try that once again. She yawns suddenly though in spite of those thoughts.

 

“Wait...you know it’s around 4 am? I think we should try to get some more sleep,” he says as he yawns as well. He slips off the bed and begins closing curtains. She watches the whole of his body exposed before her in the morning light, and those thoughts and memories of the night rush back to her mind.

 

He pauses at the phone on the desk, “I’ll order breakfast and have it sent up to us later,” he explains as he picks up the phone.

 

He doesn’t bother with Swedish this early and orders a full spread of food in English.

 

“Yes, just coffee. And put it outside the door and knock once,” he orders while he captures Molly’s gaze with his own, “We aren’t to be disturbed the entire day except for when we order food and only with a knock, understood?” With that, he hangs up the phone, crawls over her and back on his side of the bed. He pulls her into an embrace as he lays down, smoothing her hair back with his free hand and kisses her forehead gently.

 

“Sleep, we need it,” he whispers as he closes his eyes. She watches his face for a breath or two but finds sleep comes to her quickly as well.

 

-:-

 

Breakfast came as ordered, with a single knock at the door. They eat greedily and quietly, sitting on the sofa, famished. They steal glances over their coffee cups, sly grins that speak where their thoughts lie. Sherlock lets all of the memories of the night before flood his brain, matching the emotions with physical moments like a catalog of the most important things that he never wants to forget. That ache in his chest feels so different this morning. The fluffy white hotel robe is much too big for her, swallowing her form except for her delicate hands and face, but he knows every inch of what it is hiding. Biology he knows, all the responses and chemicals in their body that make them respond this way. He never paired that with the sentiment of it all. The depth it could reach now that the floodgates opened in his heart is frightening. She could break his heart someday or even today, he knows this and is aware it would kill him. He trusts her not to, but that is not a belief that assures him. He knows all the odds, and he hates himself for it.

 

“What is that face, Sherlock Holmes?” Molly smiles playfully as she takes a bite out of her pastry.

 

He says to himself won’t lie but little lies are necessary he thinks as he answers with a grin, “About the rest of our day.”

 

Molly smiles, unconsciously biting her bottom lip. “Oh... you have plans then?”

 

 _Is that a wicked look,_ Sherlock wonders, but hides his surprise with another response.

 

His eyes slant a moment, then he raises an eyebrow, lowers his voice, “Yes, I think you enjoy the schedule I have laid out for us.”

 

Molly gulps, the concept of what he says sweeps over her, and she barely makes a nod, setting her coffee cup down on the table in a clumsy clang, half on the saucer.

 

Sherlock cuts his eyes a second to the haphazard cup. He leans over her and rights it with no noise made. With that, he immediately rotates to capture her open mouth with his.

 

Molly dissolves under his kiss, and her robe suddenly feels much too warm as her entire body feels the flush.

 

She yelps as his arms are suddenly under her, lifting her up and carrying her to toward the bed. She grabs his neck and breaks the kiss. His eyes are determination and she finds looking at his lips are easier. He sets her down slowly and walks around to his side of the bed.

 

Molly’s eyes stay fixed on him, and he knows this, delights in it. He slides beside her on the bed and before he can make a move, Molly is upon him pinning him to the bed with her weight on top. He draws in a sharp breath and finds her darkened eyes with his astonished ones.

 

“I like this plan,” she whispers as she makes quick work of her robe.

 

Sherlock only manages half a smile before her lips seize his.

 

-:- 

 

 

“Being vulnerable feels a lot like dying,“ he murmurs into her hair.

 

“You’ve tried that few times, so you would know,” she quips though she regrets her tone immediately. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. It isn’t funny. I should not be so glib”

She rubs his chest, finding the scars neither one wants to talk about and relishing his skin under her fingertips.

 

“Do not apologize for truth, Molly,” he assures her. “Everything we have seen and done will become a millstone around our necks, dragging us under if we cannot take ourselves a little less seriously.”

 

She looks up at him. Perhaps he is right, that she treats every word and deed they do with such magnitude. Its both of their faults, all of this. And yet so much was not; and outside of their control.

 

But there’s the rub, the control, she reflects.

 

Something they both need and will always struggle with if they are honest.

 

“We know how this all ends even in the best scenario, don’t we?” Molly looks out at the water and concentrates on a boat in the distance. The heat of his skin against hers to help her focus.

 

“So morose, Hooper,” he attempts to say it lightly, but the emotion of her words settle in his stomach.

 

Sherlock looks down at her, all softness and that ache buried in his chest returns. He knows what it means now. It wants to protect every atom of her existence. Perhaps it always did, but he had ignored that to their detriment. He wants to shield her from every pain, even their inevitable deaths. Both were entrenched in death in every part of their life. They loved it in a way and shared that need to keep it under submission. But it weaves its ghost in and out, setting in the chill. _But no_ , he thinks, _not this._

 

“But I can’t,” he murmurs under his breath.

 

Molly rotates to look at him, brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”

 

He wraps his fingers around the back side of her head, rubbing one of her cheek bones with his thumb. Her brown eyes wide with concern, but he tries to make his own comfort move to her.

 

Searching his face, Molly finally sees the thousand of thoughts running across his brain. And she is ok with it, it reminds her of her own.

 

“It does not matter what the end is, Molly. We both accept that fact for others, but sprint from it ourselves. We refuse to accept the inevitability, to relinquish the fixation we both have on the leverage death and loss in our lives have.”

 

Molly frowned, but appeared to absorb what he was trying to convey, and he moves his hands down to hers on his chest.

 

“Whatever our end, we will share it together,” he says tenderly, not blinking as he locks eyes with her.

 

Molly opens her mouth to say something, but stops herself.

 _It's not a joke Molly; it's not a dream,_ she pushes herself to meditate on, _someday you got to believe that or you will destroy it._

 

He can see her mind struggling, fighting itself. He pulls her in closer, knowing that sometimes the best they can do is cling to each other. Skin touching and embraces release oxytocin and serotonin and he knows she lacks greatly in those these days.

 

“I’m not afraid anymore,” he says hoarsely, his thoughts becoming words breaking the quiet.

 

Molly pushes herself to let that wash over her. The emotion in his voice was real. She learned the sound of it that day on the phone. She turns her head to look at him, trying to convey in her eyes that she understands. She needs his strength now more than ever. If he can face his demons, then she must too. Her eyes water as she buries her face in his neck.

 

He knows he needs to ask the question now, while they were both being honest and open. Assuring her it's honestly asked and laying naked would be the best proof he could offer. The ring is hidden just behind the headboard and under the mattress, he had snuck it there when she had used the lavatory earlier. He risked its discovery.

 

“Molly, I need to ask you something…” he began softly, speaking into her hair.

 

His phone, which he had set on the desk, starts to vibrate loudly, and they both to jump a little. All the softness is gone now and his concerned look immediately causes her heart to leap her throat. He feels the same. That phone should not ring unless absolutely necessary. He slides out of the bed and answers it the last moment before it goes to voicemail.

 

“Finally,” Mycroft Holmes sighs,"I take it you’re still abroad.”

 

Sherlock’s face is immediately one of distinct irritation and Molly knows it is his brother by that look. She also knows it is at least not a matter of immediate emotional importance and she dresses herself with her robe as she listens quietly, she can almost hear Mycroft.

 

“Come on, you know the answer to that,” Sherlock answers in a hushed vexed manner, glancing over at Molly, slipping a small smile in the end.

 

"Certain cells of the Network have gone rather...quiet,” Mycroft states,“They’re not with you by any chance?”

 

Sherlock narrows his eyes, “No, I have not been hiding them. This is not an international game of the sardines.”

 

Mycroft sighs, “Concerning. I don’t suppose you fancy returning…”

 

Sherlock cuts him off, “No, not really.”

 

“No, I thought not,” Mycroft resigns.“Well, then you’ve driven me to it. We are simply short of minds. No amount of quiet recruitment can compensate for our sheer dearth of numbers. We shall have to recruit, um, publicly.”

 

Sherlock asks incredulously, “Recruit real people?”

 

Mycroft confirms, “Real people.”

 

Sherlock is beyond exasperated with his brother for interrupting his time with Molly, and this is almost too ridiculous for his mind to accept as he thinks of the concept.

 

“Mycroft you know you can’t trust them,” he explains.“They are into all sorts of strange things, High protein yogurts, photographs of food. Voting.”

 

“Yes, but at least they're replaceable,” Mycroft argues.

 

“There are so many of them,” Sherlock adds, falling into a familiar pattern of thought and conversation with his brother.

 

“More and more every day,“ Mycroft sighs. “Horrifying. You can’t stop them spawning; believe me, we’ve tried,” he half laughs.

 

“Well, good luck with them obviously,’ Sherlock says, tiring of this conversation.

 

“Sweden sends its regards,” Sherlock adds.

 

Mycroft perks up, “It does?”

 

“No, not really,” Sherlock flatly replies and hangs up the call.

 

He lets out a deep sigh, sets the phone down roughly and rubs his forehead and eyes for a moment.

 

As he looks up to Molly, his irritation jumps to anxiousness. Molly looks angry and he is not sure what changed from just a moment before.

 

“Molly?” he asks, worry flooding his voice.

 

Molly emotionlessly says, “We have to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Mouse 9. Next chapter is written but I am gonna make you all wait until this week sometime. 
> 
> Listened to several songs. "Novels" by Rusty Clanton is the theme song for this fic now. Shoo, go find it and listen.
> 
> I named it after our source of inspiration, the blessed The Game is Now


	7. Novels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything has come to a head and the elephants in the room have to be dealt with now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much confusion on why she is mad ;) Hope this clears it up.

“Molly, please,” he begs, unaware what he is begging for yet.  
  
She tosses him his robe, which he catches and reluctantly covers himself.    
  
“I’ll start packing so we can leave,”  she says to attempt the same emotionless pattern, but failing with a crack at the end.  
  
“Why?”  He incredulously asks.  
  
“Whatever that phone call was about that you haven’t gotten around to buttering me up to tell me about and I am not sure I even want to participate,”  she says with a sneer.  
  
Sherlock stands for a moment and shakes his head, “Molly, what, why in God’s name?  Did you not hear me tell my brother to sod off?  What in the hell do you think this is about? ”  
  
He picks up his phone, “I can call him back and say again so you can hear it.  Or text and show you? ” He knows confusion and irritation are raising in his voice.  Each attempt of asking an important question of her is getting worse each time.    
  
“Sherlock, be honest with me.  Are we here on a case? ” she asks, and he sees her eyes are watering.  
  
He rushes to her, but she puts up her hand and looks down at her feet.  He throws his hands up, tosses this phone to the couch and put his arms back down in frustration.  
  
“No!’  he replies, perhaps a bit too loud and his thoughts are running wild at why she is asking that.  He lowers his voice.  “No case!  I mean I have some suspicions there was one man we saw yesterday that something just did not fit, and I really should get Thor’s background checked because he was waaaay too talkative for a waiter but... ” he rambles out.  
  
“Oh my God Sherlock just tell me the truth!”  she cries out and sits down on the bed in exasperation.  
  
“I am!”  he shouts into his hands as rubs his face.    
  
“Your brother recruiting real people…  that is utterly ridiculous for even for you two.  Was that a signal or something? ” Molly growls, furrowing her brow.    
  
“No!  My brother is just a special kind of idiot that most government officials are,”  he says with full dramatic annoyance.    
  
If Sherlock could have Mycroft here right now, he would drag him onto the street and into the nearest oncoming car.    
  
Molly sucks in a breath through her teeth, “I don’t believe you.”She hates herself for saying it, but she had her suspicions all along.  He has been hiding something; she felt it the minute he planned the holiday.  
  
“Is this a game to lure me into whatever you deem me to be most useful this trip?  God, I am an idiot to think that this was an actual holiday,” she half laughs.    
  
Sherlock laughs too, a terrible laugh he shouldn’t do, but he is losing his composure as agony starts to seep into his chest.  
  
She cuts her eyes angrily at him.  
  
“Of course you don’t believe me.”  He licks his lips and leans on his hands on the desk for support.  Those words came out much quieter than he meant.  He thought vexation was his state, but now the heaviness in his chest and the lump in his throat are telling him he is wounded.  
  
_And feeling helpless_ , he thinks.  
  
“I don’t know what to do to make you believe any of this, you haven’t since we got on that plane, maybe before. Maybe that first day,” he winces out. 

He sees Mary flash in his mind.  _She is going to fight you..._ _She is going to twist in every knife her mind can find because there is rage in there.  Every failure you committed cannot be outweighed by every act of love you attempt._  
  
He wishes desperately those words would comfort him.  He now knows where her reservations came from.  But knowledge of what is happening does not give answers to the solution.  He knows she has every excuse to suspect this by every behavior in his past.  He is out of his expertise and she has the advantage.  He tries the only thing he knows holds weight.    
  
“I am sorry, Molly, I am sorry for everything that makes you not believe,”  Sherlock declares as his eyes water. Whatever energy he had from irritation is gone and his shoulders fall with it.    
  
Molly is wavering. One part to her wants to continue to fight to just be as horrible as possible. She hates that desire to make him feel the wounds and fury like she has for years. But the other part knows for him to feel the wounds and fury, then he is telling the truth.    
  
She silently stands and her shifting face gives him the space to continue.  
  
“This was a mistake,” he chokes out. “It was too fast... all of it and perhaps we have pushed ourselves too far.”  
  
“Sherlock…”  she says tenderly.    
  
He soaks in that softness, wishing he could take her in his arms, but everything is still up in the air.    
  
“You are right. I want to believe but… ” she starts and stops, takes a deep breath and begins again.  
  
“Every mixed signal from you kept me in a state for years.  I wasn’t an idiot, Sherlock, but I was in love and you used to think that was the same thing.”  
  
Her following deep breath ends a bit ragged and he glances up at her with concern.    
  
She closes her eyes, squeezing them shut so tight like she is willing her tears back into her eyes, but her voice hitches and the tears find their way down anyway.  
  
Sherlock steps toward her, but she backs away and puts her hand out.  She cannot look at him in the face because then she cannot say what she really feels.  His eyes convince her every time.  His touch is even more potent.  
  
With a quick sniff, she starts again, eyes looking down at her feet.

 “I tried so hard. So long. And I had found a kind of peace in Tom. Fought hard for it. Sure, I didn’t love him like I love you, but it was healthy I think. Affection, even if it is without passion? It was normal and I thought normal was healthy. I just...”  
  
Words ache as they come out, each one feeling less powerful than the last.   
  
“You bloody well knew and yet you invited me out to solve crimes like a date and then ask me to go to chips. What if I had called your bluff that day? Because that is what it was. You knew about the ring, and I would say no despite what I wanted. Because a part of my brain said chuck the ring. But another part of me knew you weren’t asking anything that was worth chucking a ring for. Chips? Hardly a date.”  
  
She pauses and then with anger ringing the back of her voice as she shakes her head.

 “Why kiss my cheek? Why do that to me? Why come in the safe distance I had made for myself?”

She rubs her chest as if it can take away the torment resting in it.    
  
“It’s cruel.  Because you know I cannot refuse you.  Do you understand cruelty now?  Though I got caught in the same cruelty and if I had rejected you I would be dead, ” she pauses as her face twists with confusion “or not I guess because it wasn’t real but it could have been and felt real once I knew. “    
  
As she rambles, his heart drops and he finds himself mirroring her rubbing his chest.  He remembers that day.  In many ways, it feels like he is a different person, a person who has come on the other side of the darkness.  He recalls his justification, determined to test the waters and see what she did.  But it was cruel, she is unerring in that judgment.  Molly is loyalty personified and she would remain with her choice of fidelity to another even if she didn’t love Tom.  He won’t tell her now, maybe someday but not now, how he played the scenario in his head.  That he did actually kiss her reticent lips, because what did he care for the convention?  That he imagined himself taking her face in his hands and ending any silly notion that they haven’t been in love for years.  How different would it have been if he wasn't a coward?  How many more kisses?  Nights like last night?  Perhaps even, no relapses?  Oh, but that fear again of what would have happened with his sister.  He shakes those thoughts away.  
  
“And I would have been forced to watch it had it been real,”  he adds softly, keeping his eyes steady on her.  “It was real because I did not know until after.  I was about to watch you die and it would have been by my own hand. ”  
  
He wants her to look up to see the tears in his eyes, to know.  But she’s right.  He knows if she looks into his eyes and he holds her gaze, she’ll do anything he asks even against her own better interests.  In the distant past, he had used it to his selfish advantage.  The problem is, somewhere along the way it wasn’t selfish anymore.  It flipped like a coin and he wants to help her, to love her, and yet he feels the weight of the errors he made.  
  
“Cruelty was her aim.  No matter the result.  Bomb or not she sliced our chests open against our will and we haven't closed it back.  We keep bleeding out,” he muses sadly.  
  
“What has been your aim then?”  Molly asks with conviction.  “Do you know what years of little seeds of hope do to someone?  You wrecked parts of my life just by existing and yes, ok... maybe I helped you wreck it.  By being the ever helpful patient Molly.  And I became comfortable with it.  Because it meant I had some part in the life of the man I loved.”  
  
With anger in her voice, she sticks in the metaphorical knife, “Some addictions don’t come in a needle, you know.  They come in texts and phone calls and plans changed and broken engagements.”  
  
Molly looks up at Sherlock now, but the anger descends from her face to resignment.  She sees his tears through her own.    
  
“I am not better, and I kept waiting for someone to notice it.  They didn’t of course, and with the loss of Mary..., ” she sucks in a shallow breath at that thought. “Everyone else soldiered on and so did I.  Rosie needed me.  Long as I kept saying the right things and acting the right way everyone was fine with it.  Then your sister just stuck her scalpel in.  Opened it all up for everyone to see.  Years of maybe, and dreams, and hope.” She pauses squeezing her eyes shut again. “Stupid, stupid hope.  That phone call was just the last cut from a thousand others before."  
  
Molly looks down at her feet again, absently wiping away her tears.  Everything in Sherlock is gnawing at him and every bit of guilt falls like a building on him.    
  
He walks to her cautiously, reading if she will pull away again.  But she doesn’t and allows him to take her hand.  He squeezes it and laces their fingers together.   _There’s that hope again, that dumb hope you can’t kill,_ she chides herself and feels her anger returns.  
  
“I do not want your pity, if you are capable of it, Sherlock,”  she says, attempting in a stronger voice.    
  
“You just told me you were not ok.  You are at war within yourself.  One I started.  One I could have ended, and I didn’t.  I have no pity;  I am to be pitied if anyone is.  But I have regret.  The deepest regret that I will never heal from but… ,” she pulls her hand away before he can finish.  
  
“Then we are nothing, but wishful thinking Sherlock.  Mine on what could be that cannot and yours on what you wish it was not... I think that makes sense. ”   
  
He grits his teeth, and in a voice, he has been pushing back seeps out “No, it does not. ”  
  
She is taken aback in part, but she expects this.  Only a matter of time before he cracked and the truth that she fears comes out.  That deep low growl of anger she hears in his voice.  That it is all not real.    
  
“It's the truth, Sherlock.  We both might as face it head-on before we make more regrets and mistakes for us both. ”   
  
He turns fast toward the other side of room retreating to the other side of the sofa.  She feels the loss of his warmth in the space between them, and the air goes cold.  
  
“Honour me this,”  he says, speaking to the window instead of her.    
  
His voice has a chill to it, one that scares them both if they are honest.    
  
She answers with her silence.  
  
“Will you ever believe me? Can you believe me? If I say I love you, a thousand times, will I still come up short?” His voice is angry, low and sad.   
  
Silence again. She knows now she pushed too far out of her own insecurity and her own anger. Now she is paralyzed, thoughts racing in fear; she created her own self-fulfilling prophecy and she cannot silence the two warring parts within her.   
  
“Is this a game? Are you the cat that has caught the mouse now, and you don’t know what to do?” He says it knowing it is bitter.  
  
Part of him hates himself for it, but he is hurting. Yes, it’s pride and yes, wrong but he cannot hold it back. He turns his head to look at her. Fuck what my gaze does to her, it is the truth, and she needs that right now, he thinks as he catches her eyes and holds them. He rotates the rest of his body from the window and moves quickly toward her.  
  
She stays locked in place. Her knees threatened to buckle under her own weight as he rushes toward her. She can't look away from his resolute glare. But her heart eases despite herself and she gulps down the emotion that rushes to her throat.  
  
“Yes, I am,” She struggles out, holding his stare with all her effort.   
  
He searches her face. Broken and everything in him wants to scoop her up in his arms, but he is in uncharted territory.  _Vivisection_ is the word that pops into his head and he pushes it aside.   
  
His face falls to sadness and it grieves her heart in ways she would not imagine in all this time. She tries words again, though they catch in her throat again.  
  
“I have everything I want, and I do not know what to do with it. I don’t know how to believe it. I am broken, Sherlock,” her voice cracks and she cannot hold his gaze anymore and turns her head.

“I cannot even blame you for all of it. I want to be someone else; someone who doesn’t feel so torn and bitter. ”  
  
Sherlock risks taking her hand again, and she allows him.    
  
He sighs,  “You could always see the sadness in me when no one else could.  I wished I had been a better friend to you, to have loved you half as well as you did me and seen the same.  And beyond that, do anything in my power to help you. ”   
  
She looks into his eyes, takes a deep breath and accepts what they tell her.  They have never lied.  All those times he held her gaze.  She saw the shift in them that day he asked for her help, that he placed that burden on her.  She must accept it, or she risks it all.  That regret will always be there.  And that regret is a truth she has to accept as well.  They can move beyond it.  It is not all they are.  It is possible.  
  
“It's not a battle, Molly unless we want it to be.  There are much bigger ones we will have to face.  But I am willing to face them... together,”  Sherlock says earnestly.    
  
Molly’s heart leaps and she senses the air change again.  He pulls her to him in an embrace, letting her head rest on his chest.  He strokes her hair softly, and she relaxes her shoulders, wrapping her arms around his waist.    
He knows what more he can do now. What he is going to ask, but at this time the words sound ridiculous in his head.  He tries them anyway.  
  
“Marry me,” he whispers into her hair and waits. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you screaming yet? Oh, wait there is another cliffhanger. I am terrible. Well, chapter 8 isn't written so you might have to give me the entire week to get it done.
> 
> chapter name is from the song Novels by Rusty Clanton. Mostly because I love the lyric that says, "What if I asked, What if I asked you to stay? What if it cost you your heart and your last name?"
> 
> As to her reasoning about getting mad, it doesn't make sense and doesn't have to. It never did for me when I was depressed. I would jump to conclusions and get angry before I would cry. It was always the first sign my depression was talking for me. So there, a bit about me. Maybe I projected a bit on her. Her depression might look different, but I have found for "strong" people, angry is often the first thing that happens.


	8. Triumph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has asked a question of Molly.

Sherlock put his lips to the top of her head. Her silence is worrying.

He holds his breath until she responds.

 

“What?” she utters in shock.

 

He pulls back, searching her face for a reaction, but it eludes him as it is blank.

 

He releases his hold on her, taking care to make sure she is steady on her feet and shifts to retrieve the ring.

 

Molly stands stiff as a board. Mouth open, watching Sherlock utterly dumbfounded.

 

He lifts the top edge of the mattress, carefully palming the small blue box and turns back to her, biting his lip to stifle a grin.

 

Before he can open the box, Molly shouts out, “Oh my God!” causing him to jump back, dropping the box due to his shock and nerves. Luckily it lands on the bed.

 

“You...you were, oh my God, just before… and oh,” she babbles pointing at him and the bed and the ring rapidly, her hand shaking.

 

“Yeees…” Sherlock draws out mirthfully.

 

“And...oh my...Dinner! You were going to...and I” She clasps her hand to her mouth.

 

“Yes,” he repeats less patiently as if he can will her to say the words herself that he wants to hear so desperately.

 

“Sherlock, I am sorry... oh shit. Sorry. Oh, bloody hell. I am a moron,” she rambles, tears threatening to well up again.

 

“Shhh, Molly. It's ok. I am just terrible at such things. It's not your fault,” he encourages her, petting her hair and rubbing her hand as he grabs it. But she interrupts him.

 

“No, I started a bloody fight and and and,” she is near hyperventilating now as her mind races faster than her mouth can keep up.

 

“Molly,’ he speaks with authority, but gently, helping her get control of herself. He takes her face in his hands and captures her eyes with his. He feels the faint tremble in her body vibrate through his hands.

 

She feels a similar vibration from his hands to her cheeks.

 

She silences herself, shutting her mouth and biting her bottom lip.

 

“You haven’t answered my question yet.”

 

There was an edge of desperation in his voice he tries to hide.

 

A faint “Yes,” is all she manages, locked in his stare.

 

They both stand there for a moment.

 

“Wait...Is that a yes to my question or?” Sherlock finds this confusion maddening because now she has spread it to his mind.

 

“Yes,” she says with all the resolve she can muster.

 

Finally, the significance and emotion of the moment wash over them and they meet in the middle in a desperate kiss and embrace.

 

Molly releases him first and goes to the bed to the ring. She slowly opens the box as he wraps his arms around her from behind.

 

In that little velvet navy blue box is the most beautiful ring she ever saw. Simple, elegant, but unique. Vintage setting with a light canary yellow diamond, about three karats as best she can guess.

 

“You like it?” he whispers into her neck as he lowers his head down to kiss it.

 

“It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect “ she whispers back, staring at it in the box catching the light peeping in the window and sparkling like fire.

 

He takes the ring out gingerly, and turns her in his arms, taking her left hand in his. He captures her eyes as he slips it on her finger. She holds his gaze for the moment before her eyes fall to the ring on her finger.

 

It fits comfortably though with weight on her small hands. It complements in a way she finds unexpected.

 

 _Bloody hell he has taste,_ she thinks, _what does he see in me?_

 

But she pushes those musings far away in her mind, they have done enough damage today.

 

“The yellow reminded me of you at John’s wedding and the yellow chair in your flat and lemon in your tea. Small clues,” he says with conviction. “ I knew when you stabbed his hand with that fork, well deserved I might add, meat dagger, God that makes John look like a genius in comparison but yes...I knew you would not be his wife. If I am honest with myself, I delighted in that thought even if I had not yet accepted I would take his place.”

 

Molly smiles. “He never had that place if I am honest with myself, not in my heart. Their wedding just made me come to the conclusion...As it did for him, I believe.”

 

“Speaking of physical violence, please do not slap me with this ring on. It would be significantly more painful, and bloody,” he playfully begs.

 

She smacks his chest, gently with her left hand to feel the weight of the ring.

 

“Just don’t do anything to warrant it,” she giggles.

 

He grabs her hand and the other one as well, wrapping them around his waist slowly. He caressed his hand on her cheek and his lips crash into hers. Lost in the kiss, both lips chapped and worn from overuse, Molly hardly knows when her feet go backwards. She bumps into the bed and sits, breaking the kiss. Sherlock pushes her shoulders back to the bed mischievous and leans over her.

 

He watches her eyes widen, not in fear or nerves but in awe. It fires every nerve in his body. Then they go slant and the knot in his lower stomach twists in a sublime way.

 

He leans further, brushing his lips across her neck up to her ear, and pauses for a breath.

 

Molly feels her heart stop. _God, is it always going to be like this? I hope so,_ she muses.

 

“Mmm, all that fighting and crying has …” Sherlock whispers and pauses.

 

Molly whimpers a quiet “yes.”

 

“It has me quite parched...and hungry,” he says while he nips her ear lobe but then he is upright before Molly realizes he is gone.

 

“I think I should order us some lunch. Maybe some takeout from nearby?” he practically sings, smug and grinning.

 

Molly lays her head back and groans. Sherlock relishes her reaction to his tease and his grin turns to a smirk,

 

“You are terrible, Sherlock. Dammit...but yes, water and food probably would be best,” she says with resign.

 

“You love that about me,” He smugly answers.

 

She bites her lip, “You are an arse...but you are my arse.”

 

“Eternally,” he smiles warmly at her as he leans over the sofa and retrieves his phone to look for delivery places.

 

-:-

 

“Oh God, this is delish, sushi really was the best choice,” Molly admits as she finishes a piece of tuna sashimi, laying her chopsticks on the coffee table and sinking back into the sofa. She argued for pizza, but Sherlock made a solid case for their need for protein and healthy fats from fish. She is not sure that going into details of n-3 fatty acids concentration comparison between raw and baked salmon and additionally his argument for the cognitive and anti-inflammatory benefits of Eicosapentaenoic acid and Docosahexaenoic acid were necessary. She almost pushed the issue of the minimal effects in the latest studies and only in higher concentrations but she was hungry. It felt so fantastic to stretch her mind back to the cocoon of her scientific expertise and she realized how much she already missed her work.

 

Sherlock recognizes that diverging into the scientific discussion is beneficial for them both. He lets his mind wander into future thoughts of her analyzing cases with him, sharing his secrets of deduction with her.

John remains chronically unobservant at times, but Molly’s mind is not so unpliable nor her sense of pattern dull, Sherlock ponders.

 

She would never reach his level of deduction he believes, but how wonderful would it be to not just impress someone but to share that path he takes mentally with someone who can at least meet him halfway. Or in some cases get to the same place in a different way. He remembers times in the lab and morgue when these exact moments transpired. His mind collected those and other less academic minutes spent looking into each other’s eyes much too long for mere friends.

 

They placed themselves in his mind like notations on a music staff in no particular order, not yet performed. Once bow was put to string, the complexity and beauty of the seemingly unconnected notes overwhelmed him.

 

Sherlock is traveling deeper in his mind with these thoughts when Molly’s voice break the connection.

 

“So, should we call or text anyone about our engagement?” Molly asks.

 

Sherlock scrunches his face. “Oh God no. Not anyone yet and especially not my brother,” he emphasises.

 

“No, we’ll deal with it when we get home. They are going to ask a million questions about weddings and details and I’d rather not ruin this wonderful peace we have found here.”

 

Molly sighs knowingly, “You’re right. Oh, they will have so many questions; it will be over bearing for a bit, won’t it?”

 

“Exceedingly and incessantly overbearing,” he groans.

 

They look at each other expectantly.

 

He bites his lip playfully, “We could elope.”

 

Molly grins and for a moment Sherlock’s heart lifts as does his face.

 

She giggles, “Sure. If you want to face the consequences of facing your parents and Mrs. Hudson with no wedding for them.”

 

She sees the briefest flicker of fear in his eyes before he puts on a face of resolve.

 

“Yes, perhaps to make it easier for us both if we concede to some sort of wedding,” he sighs.

 

She finds his hand and rubs it assuringly. “Besides, I have never had a wedding. I don’t need anything elaborate, but a simple church wedding would be beautiful,” she says with hopefulness.

 

Sherlock nods and smiles,” Long as our friends are there...and I can rein my mother in. She wanted me to give you a family heirloom for a ring I am certain.”

 

He laughs, nearly too much as Molly’s face falls to concern.

 

Once composed, he chuckles lightly, “I’ll leave that to Mycroft for his own use now.”

 

Molly shakes her head in mock disapproval, but snickers a bit herself.

 

Molly looks down at the shining new ring on her hand, wondering the cost for a moment. Then the words of the assistant Mycroft sent to help her find clothes for the holiday pop in her head. _You are in with the Holmes now, money doesn’t mean the same._

 

Sherlock finds small delights in his improvement of reading her thoughts. He deduces she is thinking about the cost.

He takes her left hand and kisses it, capturing her eyes.

 

“You mind wanders to monetary values. Trust me, there is no amount of sterling numerous enough to repay the debts I owe you.”

 

Molly feels her stomach unknot for a moment in his gaze, but it twists once again.

 

She bites her lips and Sherlock senses the mixed signal in this version of the involuntary action.

 

“Can I ask a question and look, ok this is not me starting a fight “ she emphasises, still holding his hand.

 

Sherlock smiles, his eyes crinkling “Ok, I think I am quite prepared to accept you asking that for awhile.”

 

“If I am to be honest, I would not expect you to be the marrying kind,” She asks hesitantly, reading his face as she said it to see if she needed to abort the question.

“I am ridiculously happy at all of this, but I don’t want to force you into anything that is not you. I love you no matter what the title, or place you have in my life. Always have and always will,” she reassures.

 

His face is calm and understanding, he replies ”In all fairness, I was not, or so I thought.”

 

Molly relishes in the composure they both have now in these discussions. The previous 24 hours of discourse had not been so quiet.

 

But she wants to know more even if it risks escalation.

 

“What changed your mind?” she asks quietly.

 

Sherlock furrows his brow, but not in confusion or upset. He wants to find the right words with her to keep this repose.

 

“As it seems, you changed me,” he starts but stops, looking at her hand in his like a focal point.“Or perhaps, you realised me. Small minutes and words became a fixture in my mind. Only once pressed to make sum of them did the fetters of previous notions become deficient. In essence, you loved me when I could not love myself. In that, you exposed the soul of my ego and arrogance.”

 

Sherlock lifts his eyes to hers and continues.

 

“Eventually, I found even if I could not love myself, I did love you and once the fetters were removed, there was nothing to be done but to love you wholly and unconditionally.”

 

Molly sits still, engulfed by his words as her cheeks go hot. She swallows hard at the rise of emotion in her throat.

 

“I...I,” she stutters as she tries to speak her thoughts. She closes her eyes tight again, licking her lips to get control of their beginning tremor.

 

He pulls her to him, and into his lap, placing a reassuring kiss to the top of her head laying against his chest.

 

“Perhaps I should have kept those words for our wedding day vows,” he murmurs into her hair.

 

He feels her cheek rise against his chest in a smile.

 

“You can always repeat it later. It won’t lose its effect,” she whispers.

 

She focuses on his heartbeat, that heart which has broken metaphorically and physically for those he loves. Perhaps she always wanted to protect it when others thought it did not exist. She sees without doubt that he wants to return the favor to her.

 

“Yes...I can also give more practical reasons,” Sherlock adds.

 

“Know this. I am possessive. You felt the result of that last night.” His voice lowers with those words, and Molly feels the warmth pool in her stomach at the reminiscence.

 

“I want a title from you that no other man has had. Husband is the only one. There is no jealousy except they had time with you I haven't yet. But I want to win as it were,” he half smirks and continues.

 

“I want to assure you this is forever, however long that is for us. Yes, we could use the words or a contract between us, but why fix what isn’t broken. Well perhaps, that is a lie," he furrows his brow slightly. "It's very broken in many cases. Quiet literally more often than not. But society already made a legal way for us. There is protection in marriage legally; you deserve that protection.”

 

Molly knows the details of that part of their marriage will come at a later date. Once they are home.

 

“Thank you, Sherlock,” Molly says as she lifts up to look in his eyes.“We’ll face those practical matters soon I assume. You cannot stay too long from London and neither can I. Duty tried to call us back even today.”

 

Sherlock leans his head down and nuzzles into her neck as he wraps his arms around her.

“Yes...but we are not done here yet,” he sighs into her jawline and brushes his lips along it.

 

Molly mirrors his sigh as he lays her gradually back on the sofa, kissing his way down her neck, savoring every millimeter of skin that is his to investigate and learn.

 

“I wonder if we will tire of this one day,” Molly says out loud, too lost in sensation to stop herself.

 

“Never,” he growls into her clavicle as he unties her robe.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again to Mouse 9
> 
> I rather like Sherlock in this chapter. He opened up a bit.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it. Chapter 9 will be a week likely, it will be a bit different than the other chapters.


	9. "The best laid plans..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Sherlock attempt to enjoy an afternoon at the beach but things do not always go to plan.

Molly scrunches her face up as she looks around and sighs. “We’re at the beach! Why aren’t we having fun?” she asks with frustration.  

 

Sherlock keeps his position, laid back in the sun in his small European style swim shorts, and matter of factually replies “because we are the same people...just at a beach.”

 

Molly set her book down, adjusts her one pieces bathing suit straps under her white cover-up, and looks around. Sherlock turns his head to her, a sly smile creeping in. Molly looks at him when he speaks again. She wishes she could see through those dark sunglasses, but she is sure his eyes are as playful as his mouth shows.

 

“How about we play a game?” he asks expectantly.

 

She frowns slightly, “What sort of game?”

“An observational game. Perhaps we’ll stick with basic observations at this time, but I want you to start learning my process of deduction,” he says, standing up and bumping his lounge right against herself and then sitting up as he sits again.

 

Molly smiles and bit her lip lightly at the corner, “Sharing your secrets already?”

 

“Hardly a secret. It is a skill, one I have honed natural talent to an expert level. You have a talent for it as well,” he compliments her.

 

She looks away to in front of her, cheeks going pink and grinning, “You think so?”

 

He takes her hand, rubbing it lightly with his thumb, “Without a doubt. You observed many times my emotions even when I did not think they existed. And the count is numerous on clues you found in the lab and in the morgue.”

 

She pulls his hand to her lips, kissing it gently, and drops it to her thigh for it to rest there.

 

Sherlock briefly wishes they were in the room, feeling the heat from the sun on her thigh scorching his hand.

But he waves away the compulsion.

 

“Yes...now the basics” he begins.

 

“Should I take notes?” she laughs.

 

He raises an eyebrow, “I am serious, Molly. This is a game for now, but someday.” He swallows hard as a million awful fearful thoughts run across his mind.

 

”It could save our lives; save yours.”

 

Molly matches his swallow as the fear reveals in his tightened jaw. She feels uncomfortably more aware of everything around them. _The reality of his life is a heavy burden,_ she reminds herself  But she takes a deep breath and smiles softly.

 

“I’m sorry. Please continue.”

 

Sherlock mirrors her smile and squeezes her thigh in reassurance. “No need to apologize. I meant this to be a diversion, but got in my own way there.”

 

“The first step is observance. Everyone goes through their lives missing the tiny details because they are distracted. ” he begins, removing his hand from her thigh.

 

“It's like when your teachers told you not to daydream, to pay attention?” she asks, but he shakes his head.

 

“Think of when you are running a process, or when you are collecting tissue. For those moments you have to work in exactness. Every detail matters or your results will be unsatisfactory,” he elaborates.

 

“So observance of everything at first, then a narrowing down to the importance of each of those observances?” she asks earnestly, holding his gaze through their sunglasses.

 

The corner of his lips curl up, “Yes, precisely.”

 

Her brow furrows in thought. “When I check the body, I know, by the general idea from their death, there are parts I can gloss over. But could I also be wrong in that? That is where I could miss details?”

 

“Sometimes, yes it's not a perfect science,” he admits. “But also you cannot focus on details that are irrelevant. They will only distract and take up precious time. Over time you have learned that and you can be more precise.”

 

“Yes...so then I just need to develop the same skill, but with everything,” she says, and looks with concern at Sherlock. “My God that must be exhausting for you.” She lays her hand on his arm gently as a comfort.

 

He smiles sadly, running through all the minute observations he already made around him.

 

“Close your eyes, breath deeply for a moment,” he whispers as he leans down to her ear.

 

Molly looks at his face so close to hers out of the corner of her eye for a second before closing her eyes shut.

 

“Listen first, and slow your own thoughts,” Sherlock says low and steady. “Ignore my presence except for my voice.”

 

“That is hard with your lips...” she starts. _We can play this game in other ways less serious later if he wants,_ she contemplates.

 

“No. You can feel and listen, but stop the other processes,” he stops her.

 

He lightly sighs and she feels the force of that breath from his nose travel across her ear, behind it and down her neck. She shivers, no way she cannot.

 

“That is ok. You are aware of my breath, and the exact distance I am from you. You are starting to understand hyper-awareness and what it feels like...Use your other senses now,” he reassures in the same low voice.

 

She takes a deep breath through her nose.

 

She focuses on her other ear, facing toward another couple 15 meters from them. She hears a muted conversation. _One of them, the female? Yes, she is irritated_. But Molly cannot make out the words. Only the tone. She furrows her brow a bit and tries to block them out now. She refocuses on Sherlock next to her. His breath faint against her neck. She sees his face watching hers in her mind.

 

“You were listening to the couple near us, am I correct?” he asks knowingly.

 

“Yes, I could only catch the tone,” she says softly.

 

“The point was to focus not to gather anything, let that information go for now “ he reassures.”What else do you hear?”

She takes another deep breath.

 

“Birds, to the left. Flying over the sea toward us. The water lapping. A small child down the beach, laughing I think” she smiles slightly.

 

“What do you smell?” he asks.

 

“You are so close, so I smell sun cream and sweat mingling; it’s a bit sexy,” she smirks.

 

“Focus,” he says playfully gruff.

 

She breaths in slowly through her nose, taking in all the details.

 

“Heat from the sand, mineral. The salt, not just from you, but from the air. I smell kitchens from restaurants in the distance when the breeze blows by,” she relays.

 

“Can you recreate an image in your head from what is around you? Using just your mind?”

 

Sherlock finds himself tense from excitement watching every muscle in her face twitch as she reaches out with her senses. For a moment he wishes he could crawl inside her mind and feel everything she does. He knows it contrasts with his, and how much he could learn.

 

“I can try,” and she did, taking the visuals she had before and she worked to map out a large area on the beach, birds included.

 

“Yes, I can see it...somewhat,” she says unconfidently.

 

“Ok you can open your eyes. See if your recollections and placements were correct,” he instructs.

 

Molly opens her eyes and squints as she adjusts to the sun, scans the beach, and bites her lip,”It kind of does.”

 

“That is fine. I only wanted you to use your senses to look for details,” he comforts her rubbing her hand as he grabs it with his.”Consider it a form of meditation. It is an excellent way to refocus when you are stressed.”

 

She bends her neck back, letting her head rest on the chair as she lets her face fall toward him.

 

“Not sure I can quite do what you do,” Molly says, lips curling in one side in uncertainty.

 

He chuckles, but it lightens the mood. “I wouldn’t want you to. You will find your own method as you practice.”

 

He looks away from her, scanning the beach himself. “Now perhaps let’s do some work with our eyes open.” He bites his lip more so from nerves, “I will close my eyes this time, and you can tell me what you are seeing.”

 

She raises an eyebrow, “Are you just using this as an excuse to take a nap?”

 

He grins, eyes crinkling, “Long as you keep telling me interesting things I won’t go to sleep. Consider that your challenge.”

He lays back, eyes shut, his body showing light tension from expectancy.

 

She rolls her eyes slightly, but grips his hand tighter and lays it on her thigh where it had previously rested.

 

 _Not sure if I can do what he does at all with my eyes opens,_ she thinks.

 

“I see the couple I was hearing earlier. They aren't fighting now, and the woman looks content as she is laying back against the chair” she describes. “The man looks the same. And they are holding hands, that is sweet.”

 

Sherlock squeezes her hand, and smiles,  “Ok move beyond the couple.”

 

Molly surveys the beach, which became crowded nearer to the water and sees a familiar face in the distance.

 

She spies their friend Thor about 25 meters away to their left, all tan and brawny. She checks to see if Sherlock really has his eyes by a slight wave of her hand in front of his eyes.

 

“My eyes are closed, Molly. No need to confirm what I tell you. Do you not trust me?” he asks, feigning a wounded voice.

 

Molly smirks, offering only,  “You are Sherlock Holmes.”

 

He grunts but does not argue back.

 

 _I wonder if he can guess its Thor, let's try him,_ she wonders mischievously.

 

“Hmm, there is a man about 20 something meters away,” she reports. “Oh, he is Swedish perfection. Dirty blonde cropped hair, muscular and tall.”

 

She adds a small “mmm’ at the end for emphasis.

 

Sherlock stiffens and tightens his grip on her hand.

 

Molly gives the slightest of nods to Thor as he looks to her and she sees him raise his hand, breaking into a light jog toward them.

 

Sherlock sighs, “I am starting to think you have a type you did not realize until you came into this country.”

 

“Perhaps...or I could be goading you a bit to keep things interesting,” she quips. “Besides, I think you can guess why I am describing this man.”

 

Sherlock raises an eyebrow, “It may come as a surprise that I have several theories, but none I can say I am certain on.”

 

“Let me relieve your mind then. Thor is coming over here,” she points out happily.

 

“Oh God, really?” he exasperates as he opens his eyes.

 

Molly is taken aback, “Oh come on Sherlock he is really nice and you were rather short with him.”

 

“You decided he was worth sharing some smiles with.”

 

“Which I told you was a game...not proud of it but it was what it was,” she argues. 

 

“And I forgive you...still I am not sure, oh God he is here.” Sherlock sits back with a grumble.

 

“Hallå!” Thor says with all cheeriness

 

“Hello again, Thor!” Molly says with a similar tone, though her eyes shoot to Sherlock and say something different.

 

“Beautiful day at the beach, no?” Thor says, cheerful as always.

 

“Yes, we are having a lovely time” she replies.

 

Thor ponders for a moment, “Yes, I suppose it is nice I don’t come often because it is well like I should have more fun than I do. But ah, ignore me,”

 

Sherlock raises an eyebrow at Thor,” _Ok maybe there is more to this big lug._

 

Thor looks down at Molly’s hand and his jaw drops a bit dramatically as he points.

 

“Herregud! That ring! Congratulations are in order I assume?” Molly grins and Sherlock’s slips into a smile unconsciously. Thor steps behind the chairs and smacks Sherlock on the shoulder. Jarring as it is Sherlock, he holds himself still to not react, except for an incredulous look at Thor. Thor is blissfully unaware. He comes around the chairs back in front of the couple.

But his face drops suddenly into shock, his brow furrowing as his eyes widen, and both Sherlock and Molly see his muscles twitch. Sherlock tenses as well, fearing what Thor is looking at behind him and Molly.

 

“Hallo, Mr. Holmes and friends, if you would all follow us that would be ideal,” a man in a tan linen suit says, indicating the gun in a holster under his jacket to Thor. Sherlock watches Thor’s eyes follow to the gun. _German, tall and armed,_  Sherlock deduces.

 

Thor opens his mouth, but Sherlock puts a finger to his lips to signal the need for quiet. Sherlock keeps his hand on Molly’s thigh, and Molly drops her hand to his, gripping it tight as she watches his face tightens.

 

“May I ask where we are following you to?” he asks coldly.

 

“No, you may not. Please follow us.” the man smirks, patting his gun under his jacket, making a small thump sound as another man walks in front of the couple and just behind Thor.

 

Sherlock knows that it is a risk to civilians if he attempts a confrontation now. But if they are isolated, the risk to them increases by every minute. He needs more time with these men to size them up. Only minutes, but he hasn’t had them yet. He will protect Molly no matter what and he swallows hard at the thought of anything happening to her. He wishes he knew if any skill lay behind those muscles of Thor.

 

Sherlock locks eyes with Molly and squeezes her hand in vain assurance. He mouths “It's ok”  and stands slowly helping her up from her seat as she slips her sandals on. The tremor in her body worries him, and the adrenaline from anger coursed through his veins making his skin tingle. He must move his mind past it and into the calm he needs more than anything right now. _Their lives depend on it,_ he reminds himself. He captures her eyes with his and tells her for them both.

 

“Breathe. Just breathe”

 

Sherlock visually sweeps the area around them and looks at every person in a visual vicinity. His eyes land on a young woman, 20 yards away. She attempts a casual stance, but the look on her face says she recognizes him and is taking a photo of him at least. He turns his head fully to face her and pulls his sunglasses down for a moment to look right at her camera on her phone. He has no way of knowing if it will be posted on social media but considering her age and the look on her face gives him hope. As they start walking away he holds onto an outside chance that he was tailed by Mycroft and not just by whatever criminal element that has him, Molly and unluckily, Thor, under threat.

 

“Watch what you do with your hands, Mr. Holmes” the other man barks, wearing a casual dark collared shirt untucked, gun in his waist covered by the short, Sherlock notices, and khaki trousers.

 

“Only adjusting my sunglasses,” Sherlock answers, the edge of anger forming in his voice and he slides his hand from Molly’s hand to her lower back as they start to follow the linen suit man. Thor files in behind them and the dark-shirted man flanks them in the rear.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See what had happened was...yeah I had to split the chapters. So you get a cliffhanger! And also I had to add chapters. I never said I was completely in control of this story. 
> 
> I'll try to be quick with finishing chapter 10, I promise. This chapter was delayed because I was trying to do too much in one chapter. 
> 
> title is of course from "the best laid plan of mice and men often go awry" and fits both the chapter and my mental state.
> 
> The opening lines came from a incorrect Hufflepuff and Slytherin quotes post on tumblr. It seemed very Molly and Sherlock. Edited it a bit. Could not locate the original source. 
> 
> I added songs to Sherlolly spotify playlist. I really like "Wolves" by Lia Rose for Molly for the next couple chapters. 
> 
> Mouse9 gets all my love for putting up with me.


	10. Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, Molly and Thor find themselves in danger.

The air is stale in the building, like hitting a wall of dust and decay as they walk through the door and hallway. Clearly an office building, Sherlock thinks. Walls dingy with old floral and swirl wallpaper, peeling from the corners.

 

Two other men join them at this building and help lead the three into a room two doors down the hall, with another room open across from it.

 

A desk against the wall, layer of thin dust covering the top is the only furniture.

 

Sherlock feels the air hang heavy in the room and sweat sticks to his skin.

 

If he strains, he hears the cars outside and people laughing in restaurants merely meters away. The thought of normality contrasting with their current situation feels like home; moments like this happened too often to him. He hates this home more than he ever had before.

 

“Please stand apart, all three of you. Nothing funny, or sudden, or we shoot one of the blondes,” Linen suit man smirks.

 

Molly shivers as her nerves getting the better of her.

 

The man fixes his eyes on her.

 

“Sorry I am just cold,” she lies through chattering teeth and wants to kick herself for speaking. It was nerves that did that to her. Sweat rolls down the man’s face as he smiles slyly.

 

“Oh, would you like my jacket?,” He slips it off, offering it to her. Sherlock wishes they were alone with him, that would have been his mistake. But the dark-shirted man has his gun trained on Sherlock specifically and so he must wait. Molly puts her hand out instinctively but pulls it back as she looks at Sherlock.

 

“No, thank you” she tries in a stronger voice.

 

“Oh no, we cannot have you be cold, let me,” he says earnestly as he sets his gun down on the desk.

 

Something in her, louder than ever, screams to run as fast as she can. But she can’t and she knows she needs to try to get it under control.

 

 _Breathe, focus just focus on the details,_ she screams at herself.

 

He sets it on her shoulders, despite as much as she tries to shrink from him,. He smooths it down slowly on her arms and grabs them suddenly. She jumps and bites her lip to keep from yelling.

 

He runs a hand up to her hair, pulling a strand back from her face and tucking it behind her ear. His touch brings bile to her throat. Keeping her eyes turned to Sherlock is the only thing that is keeping her panic at bay. It keeps rising in her throat and her heart rings loud in her ears. But details, _focus,_ as he said on the beach.

 

She stares at the wallpaper and follows each scroll slowly with her eyes, weaving its pattern in her mind like tracing on paper.

 

Sherlock feels his chest ache, and his mouth goes dry, he cannot risk any extra words at this time. But the anger inside him multiplies. Before he breaks his best judgment and speaks, another voice breaks through.

 

“Do not touch her,” a voice, low and steady, breaks the quiet to her left. Thor’s eyes stay fixed on the linen suit man. The man only smirks back at him as he walks back to the desk, retrieving his weapon and pointing it directly at Thor’s face. Thor swallows hard but holds his stare.

 

Sherlock stares at Molly, hoping she will look away from the gun he sees her staring at and to him again.

 

 _She needs to get angry. Angry Molly is able to do anything, and she will not back down,_ Sherlock thinks. I _wonder if I can get them to threaten me and if that will work._

 

It's an outside chance that any of it will work, but he liked their odds better if she is as angry at him.

 

“Do we need to have our hands up?” Sherlock quips suddenly and her eyes glance over at him.

 

The man laughs looking back at Sherlock, “No, I just want to see them clearly but...you know what for your smart mouth you get to put them up. Keep them up or I’ll shoot you. I only need you to transport alive, not unharmed.”

 

Sherlock’s face is all calm, but he wishes he had thought of something else. Holding his arms up will make it difficult to have complete control when he has to punch this man’s face in. But he complies quickly.

 

His eyes intent on the linen suit man, but he sees out of the corner of his eye Molly looking back and forth between them, and he sees her brow change to a different kind of tension.

 

“Transport?” Sherlock asks seeing if he can get the man to talk more.

 

“Yes, well, I am not the person who wants to meet you. It is just my assignment to get you there alive and able to talk. Our ride will be here shortly,” the man says, looking at the two men that have stayed stationed near the door and hall. He nods his head toward Thor.

 

“Take the large blonde one out of this room, we'll await instructions on him,” he instructs. “He’s a nobody, but this girl is obviously a bit closer to him. We will take her with him.”

 

The man looks again at Molly, “She can be used as leverage I believe... or perhaps other uses.”

 

Sherlock’s blood goes cold at first but begins to boil in his veins at those words.

 

 _You’ll regret if you lay another hand on her,_ Sherlock promises in his head.  

 

He looks at Molly, seeing her face turn toward fury. It's subtle, but her jaw and nostrils give her away as does her breathing. There is a calmness washing over her and Sherlock smiles to himself. Whatever happens, he knows she is angry enough now to fight. He only wishes if she knew how to because if not he will have to teach her on the fly. They cannot leave this building with these men, he recognizes this and begins calculating a plan.

Molly breathes deeply and slowly through her nose. Something about the threat to Sherlock triggers her. These words about her even more so. But not in the way she expects. Something darker bubbles forth, ready to strike. Her better sense keeps her rooted in place, but her hands slowly curl in and out of fists for the moment as her teeth clenched tightly in her mouth.

 

They all watch as Thor is led away out of the room. As he passes, he gives Sherlock a knowing wink.

 

Sherlock deduces Thor planned for them to take him out the room. But Sherlock is in the dark on why he would do that unless he is dumb enough to think he can overpower two armed men. Sherlock prepares himself that this is exactly the plan and he is shortly rewarded.

 

Yelling and a loud thud, and gunshot ring out, and all remaining eyes in the room turn to noises in the hallway. Sherlock can hear fists pounding and grappling.

 

_So Thor can hold his own._

 

“Shit, ok time for us all to go,” linen suit man yells toward the other armed man in the room.  

The linen suit man grabs Molly’s wrist, but grabbing her first was a miscalculation on his part. The darkness that was bubbling in her breaks the surface and she immediately reacts. She twists her arm and breaks the hold, turning into him and palm striking him directly to the nose with an awful crunch and blood immediately following. She takes one quick step in closer and with a quick leg sweep, knocks the man off his feet.

 

“Don’t you fucking touch me!,” she roars as she makes a stomping strike to the man’s groin.  

 

The dark-shirted man is in shock for the moment and Sherlock is already upon him. It was too close for him to make a shot, but the man attempt to pistol whip Sherlock and gets in contact with Sherlock’s lip. He pays dearly for it as Sherlock hand chops at his throat and then sweeps his legs out from under him as well.

 

Sherlock turns his head to Molly to check on her and smirks to see the damage she is causing. He quickly kicks his assailant in the windpipe, disabling him. Sherlock kicks the gun across the room. The linen suit man had also dropped his gun and Molly kicks it away. The linen suit man rocks on his side on the floor.

 

“On second thought, go get the guns, Molly put one on this other one. I’ll take care of our German friend,” he says darkly.

 

Molly obeys orders, retrieving both weapons, and training them as best she can on the other man writhing in pain and choking. She thinks better about it and puts the one with her left down by her side and aims the other with her right hand.

 

“You might want to put your hands up,” Sherlock smirks at the linen-suited man as he tries to stands.

 

The man charges at Sherlock, but it was a mistake, Sherlock blocks his punch and returns it with a square hit to the throat. He falls to the ground with a thud.

 

Sherlock continues to punch the man every time he attempts to move. Molly is not sure if the blood is from the man’s face is all his or if Sherlock is tearing his knuckles apart. She surprises herself how coldly she feels about it.

 

“Either you lay still or I get the gun from her, and I make you stay still,” Sherlock promises.

 

Molly hears that chill in his voice, and she knows he is serious.

 

He will put a bullet in that man’s head and not even pause. She doesn’t seem to care if he did it right now in front of her. Later she’ll reflect on how she even felt her hand twitch and thought about it herself.

 

Thor runs into the room and smiles when he sees Molly and Sherlock also got the upper hand.

 

It is the bloodied linen-suited man’s luck as a Swedish swat team enters the building.

 

“Drop the guns! Kick them away again and put your hands up!,” Sherlock commands.

 

She follows his orders no hesitation and as does Thor. Within three breaths, they are beset with a dozen officers.

 

The officers ignore the previous hostages at first and begin the capture of the two men.

 

“Mr. Holmes, you and your companions can lower your arms now,” the indicated captain of the squad instructs.

 

Molly swiftly finds herself in Sherlock’s arms and he breathes fully for the first time since they left the beach as he wraps them around her. She buries her face in his chest, ignoring the blood and sweat.

 

“I was afraid...but” she starts.

 

“Shhh. It’s ok. You did so well, my Molly, as I thought you would,” Sherlock reassures as he strokes her hair at her neck and kisses her forehead. Perhaps later, he’ll confess the absolute terror he felt inside, and how he had to swallow thoughts of Sherrinford in that room.

 

Molly accepts this is not the time for a deep conversation. His warm skin against her cheek is enough.

 

Medical personnel advises they will be back to check on them once they get the men in transport.

 

Sherlock nods them away as they carry the German out on a stretcher. One last flash of anger and it leave his body finally.

 

He buries his face in Molly’s hair as they hug tightly still.

 

“Ah yes, well, I don’t think they quite expected me,” Thor half laughs, as he watches the officers work the scene.

 

Sherlock and Molly pull back out of their tight embrace, look at each other and at Thor.

 

“Elaborate please,” Sherlock asks.

 

“Mixed martial arts fighting. It’s a hobby mostly because it cannot pay the bills but well, these muscles aren’t just for show,” he laughs.

 

Sherlock raises an eyebrow.

 

“I have been taking self-defense classes,” Molly blurts out.

 

Sherlock cuts his eyes to her now mouth half open but closes it.

 

“Well, that is obvious now. Excellent palm strike I might add” he compliments.

 

“Thought it might help, well, things in my head and well I guess it came in handy in the end,” She giggles nervously, feeling a bit proud.

 

“Secrets seem to be the soup de jour,” he mocks.”Any more that anyone would like to share?”

 

Thor laughs a big chesty laugh.

 

“Oh goodness, a restaurant joke. Oh, I do hope we stay friends, you two entertain me so much,” he says, wiping his eye.

 

Sherlock’s brow furrows and his arms cross.

 

“I know you hate anyone getting the drop in on you but no reason to pout,” Molly attempts to soothe, laying her hand on his arm gently.

 

Sherlock lets his shoulders soften as he lowers his arms. Her hand slides easily into his. They both capture each other’s eyes. But an interruption once again breaks their gaze.

 

A Swedish officer hands Sherlock his phone, which has been confiscated earlier by the criminals. Sherlock looks down and knows that who the person ringing him on it. He presses the button to start the call and with a sigh brings it to his ear.

 

“Hello brother dear, “ he answers in a mocking tone.

 

“I will arrive in an hour to debrief you and your fiancée... and the other, and to bring you back to London.” Mycroft Holmes declares.

 

“Presumptuous of you to have Molly and I betrothed already,” Sherlock smirks into the phone.

 

“I saw the ring in photographs from the scene not hard to put that together, which I might add you were quite lucky we monitor tags on Instagram and Twitter,” Mycroft says with a smug flair.  You’re slipping, brother”, He adds.

 

“I’m slipping?” Sherlock half laughs, “You are slipping if you hadn’t worked out I was going to ask her on the trip before I left.”

 

“Hardly. You were supposed to use Great Grandmother’s sapphire ring,” Mycroft feigns chiding, “Had this happened, then mother would have informed me of what was happening.”

 

“You were quite secretive. You must have used several channels to purchase the ring,” Mycroft adds, irritation hidden in his voice.

 

Mycroft sighs deeply, “You are slipping. Missing clues and ending up kidnapped, Sherlock”

 

“You let me come here,” Sherlock says plainly.

 

“Anything for my baby brother,” Mycroft says cheerily.

 

Sherlock’s face drops and Molly’s face mirrors his, not able to hear the conversation except on one side.

 

“You are a terrible liar.”

 

Mycroft does not argue, “Likely. Perhaps I hoped you would pick up on a cell in Stockholm. I didn’t think you would get some lost in sentiment to miss it all.”

 

Sherlock catches a sneer at the end of the statement and smiles so Mycroft can hear it in his voice.

 

“You should try it sometime. It's quite enjoyable.”

 

“If this is the result, hardly worth it,” Mycroft sniffs.

 

Sherlock laughs, “We got out of it fine, all together.”

 

Mycroft does not push that matter more.

 

“Mother will not be happy she was not consulted and the ring goes unused again,” Mycroft reminds Sherlock.

 

“Hardly. You are the eldest; it is your right. I am leaving that ring for you to give away to your... goldfish,” Sherlock earnestly offers, knowing full well the effect.

 

“Conversation over. Make sure your bags are packed,” Mycroft says and disconnects the call.

 

He rolls his eyes, “You know my brother is on his way. Less than an hour”

 

“How…what? "Molly says, chin dropping into her neck in confusion. “That soon?”

 

Sherlock purses his lips, “Always that soon...I’ll tell you later how.”

 

His face shifts as he looks in her eyes, and she sees the regret as he leans over, closes his eyes and kisses her forehead, holding his lips there as he murmurs, ”Our holiday is over, my love.”

 

She matches his mood, closing her eyes as she rubs his jawline with her fingers, “I know, but it's for the best. It's who we are I am starting to think.”

 

Thor looks on from the side, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

 

Sherlock senses his presence again, opens his eyes and turns his head to look at him.

 

“If you do not mind, Thor…” he starts but Thor puts up a hand.

 

“I do not mind, you two say anything you need to. I do not mind you two are, what's the word, adorable?” he finishes returning to his wide grin.

 

Molly opens her eyes. She intervenes immediately upon seeing the kill look in Sherlock’s eyes.

 

“Thor, Sherlock and I need to speak privately before his brother gets here, would you mind going into the hallway?”

 

“Oh certainly,” Thor says jovially. “His brother must be very interesting; cannot wait to meet him.”

 

He nods and leaves the room.

 

Sherlock watches the man leave, and when he is sure he is out of earshot, snaps his head back to Molly, “We are not inviting him to the wedding”

 

Molly sighs happily, “Yes, we are.”

 

After a brief argument about Thor’s role in saving their lives, it is settled he would attend if he could.

 

Sherlock talked with officers and receives dismissal from the scene after a brief exam and treatment from medical personnel. His knuckles did need cleaning. He texts Mycroft saying he and Molly would be at the hotel. Thor advised he had to go to work so Mycroft could send someone to debrief him there.

Sherlock fights every urge to start the hunt for clues. But he feels that Mycroft has more information than he can gather at this time safely. Best to wait for him before beginning that process, as much as he hates to admit it. He needs to get Molly to a more comfortable and safe place before his mind will be free to explore all the possibilities.

 

Back at the hotel, they both give a sigh of relief; it was almost like coming home. Plus the air con was a welcome relief at first on this very warm day.

 

Sherlock closes the room door and couldn't stand it anymore. The danger and the need to solve this mystery is overpowered by another desire. He grabs her arm and spins her into his arms, crushing her lips with him

 

Molly’s nose captures salt and sun cream, his body slick against hers, still only in their bathing suits.

 

There is no mystery what he wants.

 

 _Was that blood I just tasted?_ She thinks, she remembers the one blow to his lip one of the men got. She hopes she is not making it worse.

 

She breathlessly stops the kiss, but his lips roughly find her neck immediately.

 

“Wait. Isn't your brother going to be here soon?” she strains out with a whimper.

 

“He can wait,” he replies, texting him quickly one handed behind Molly’s back as he bites her earlobe to get her to moan.

 

 **You might not want to come to talk to us yet.** **Don’t be alarmed-SH**

 

Sherlock smirks against her shoulder, and she laughs a bit, knowing he is texting his brother, running her fingers along his spine.

 

After the pause, he adds, **It has to do with sex-SH**

 

With one last delightful thought at the look of annoyance his brother’s face will have, he tossed his phone to his bag in the open cupboard.With one motion, he lifts Molly on his arms cradled and tosses her on the bed. She giggles low, and her eyes darken as he joins her, covering her body with his.

 

“Wait, Molly, I didn't check to make sure you are ok,” Sherlock apologizes.

 

“What are you talking about? You and the paramedic both examined me. I am fine. Probably a little bruised at most if anything at all,” she says into his collarbone as she nips at it, ignoring the shift in mood. 

 

“You know what I am referring, Molly,” he asks tenderly, trying to capture her eyes as he leans upon his forearms

 

“I know,” she looks into his eyes, but then down to his chest.” And I am fine, really. I wasn’t scared at all because I was with you,” she says, stroking his collarbone.

 

He raises an eyebrow and waits.

 

“Oh alright, I was scared out of my mind for a bit,” she admits, her brow furrowing. “But I got better the more I focused. I was still afraid, but I was in control of it.”

 

“No matter what happened I was with you... and we were going to be ok. I’m not cured, or anything, but it was different,” she sighs.

 

“You make it different” she speaks to the hollow of his neck as she stretches to kiss it. “We’ll talk about it when we get home. I promise.”

 

He goes to speak but finds himself lost to the sensation of her lips against his neck, and he could think of nothing else. They would talk about it later, he thinks. But for now, after a brush with danger, this may be the best reward for them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay! all is well. winding this story down. First time writing an action sequence hope it works. 
> 
> title is from the song Wolves by Lia Rose
> 
> give me a week for the next chapter it will be Mycroft heavy probably.


	11. Returning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Sherlock have a heart to heart, of sorts, on the way back to London. And Molly finds herself in an interesting conversation with Anthea.

“Are we finally ready to leave?” Mycroft fumes, rising from the sofa as Sherlock and Molly arrive downstairs in the Lydmar Hotel lobby.

 

They kept him waiting over an hour after his arrival at the hotel was announced by text to Sherlock...and then a voicemail...or two. Sherlock smirks and puts on a mocking face of joy.

 

“Well, if we must. After you brother dear, so wonderful to see you,” Sherlock grins.

 

Molly casts her glance between the two men and hides a matching grin. _It_ _does feel rather like getting caught snogging behind the school by a teacher_ , she thinks to herself mirthfully.  

 

Mycroft stares coldly at Sherlock, and points to the door, “Get in the car.”

 

Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically, and grabs Molly’s bag and his with a huff and exits the hotel.

 

Molly steps to follow, but Mycroft’s voice stops her and she turns to see why he called out to her. She cannot deny her limited interactions with him have skewed to intimidating at best. But the near warmth she sees in his eyes might be the most disconcerting look yet.

 

He pauses and smiles slightly, “England, and the world, need you both at home and at work. Thank you for your understanding.”

 

Molly opens her mouth but shuts it, nodding only as she looks away and walks toward the door. Mycroft beats her to it and opens it for her. She looks at him once more and finds the warmth, at least warm for him, remains.

 

“Welcome to the family,” he sighs as he guides her out the door.

 

-:-

 

The car ride to the airport is mostly quiet. Mycroft sat next to Sherlock who sat in the middle between him and Molly. Mycroft’s assistant Anthea sat in the front with the driver, texting on her mobile the entire time.

 

Molly’s stomach grumbles and she lays her hand there unconsciously, realizing suddenly the gnawing she ignored. Sherlock lays his hand on hers, “It seems we forgot to eat food...or rather I forgot to make sure you had food.”

 

He apologizes in a low and soft voice, rubbing her fingers with his slowly, “That is entirely my fault.”

His voice is like silk near her ear and her heart jumps at the thought of recent memories in the hotel as his breath caresses her ear.  

 

 _Bloody hell your brother is right there and it’s already awkward enough,_ Molly thinks.

 

She takes his hand with hers and lays it near her knee, lacing her fingers with his to settle her mind and sudden racing blood. Sherlock smiles a bit as he feels how her heart rate elevated.

 

“Please order some sandwiches for our flight, Anthea,” Mycroft says, not looking up from his phone.

 

“Yes, sir,” she replies and turns to Molly smiling,  “What kind would you like, Ms. Hooper?”

 

“Salmon would be lovely if that’s no trouble,” Molly answers softly.

 

“No trouble at all,” Mycroft replies with a smile at Anthea.

 

“I was thinking ham and…” Sherlock starts but Mycroft interjects. “Yes, salmon will be fine, thank you, Anthea.”

 

Molly spies a small smirk from her as she turns back around in her seat.

 

Mycroft looks up from his mobile to Sherlock, and in an irritated tone says,  “You’ll get to eat once we have had a talk.”

 

Sherlock sits back, letting go of Molly’s hand and pulling his arms across his chest in a small pout.

 

“You are of course free to eat soon as we board, Ms. Hooper,” he adds in a softer tone.

 

“Molly...you can call me Molly, it’s ok,” Molly assures cautiously.

 

Mycroft only nods and returns to his mobile typing. Molly isn’t sure if that was an affirmative or dismissive nod.

 

Silence sits for a few moments until Sherlock tries again, “We could have the talk here…”

 

“No, I am still working on clean-up duty here. We’ll talk once we are on the plane which will be soon, thank heavens,” Mycroft interrupts raising his eyebrows.

 

Sherlock continues to sit in a pout but looks much more serene each minute. _Perhaps he is going in his mind palace now,_ Molly wonders.

 

She leans into his side and lays her head against his shoulder until they get to the airport, watching the city fade away. A part of her heart tugs at the thought of leaving a city she has barely explored. But she knows it is special to her because their time will not be their own in London. _It was wonderful despite the ending,_ she thinks.

 

Once boarded, Sherlock kisses the top of Molly’s head. Sherlock and Mycroft then go to a room with a door near the back without another word.  Anthea shows Molly to her seat, and once they completed take off and reached cruising altitude, she immediately stood up and serves Molly a large smoked salmon sandwich without a word.

 

Molly shifts in the leather seat, feeling stiff from being tense during take off.  To distract herself, she notices the fine wood details of the small table before her that she missed on their flight to Sweden. _Expensive as always, Mycroft._

 

“Tea?” Anthea asks breaking the silence. She turns on a small electric kettle and sets up the cup and saucer carefully, making no sound as they are placed together.

 

 _She is well matched with her superior; very similar in their exactness,_ Molly notes to herself as she nods at Anthea.

 

“Oh God yes...sorry, it’s just we haven’t had any good tea since we left home,” Molly laughs nervously.

Anthea smiles sincerely, “ Well, we must remedy that. With lemon, am I correct?”

 

Molly bites her lip a bit, nodding, “Yes, just lemon”

 

As the other women so serviceablely and yet elegantly dressed pours the tea, Molly feels unease wash over her. She is not sure why; she is also well dressed; cream colored linen pants and a pale yellow silk boat neck top. Something about knowing she would be around Mycroft and going home made her put on one of the more classy outfits she had with her. It felt like business instead of pleasure, and returning to an uncertainty, even though the ring on her left hand would imply otherwise. She picked at the blouse before the trip and it amused her how it matched the stone in that ring. Maybe a part of her subconscious knew, or perhaps, really Sherlock knew her that well. She is surprised though that Anthea knows much about her at all, much less how she takes her tea. The limited interaction was Molly’s experience with Anthea over the years and always accompanied by Mycroft. This new interaction felt disconcerting and Molly feels she must ask questions.

 

“May I ask you something?” Molly appeals to Anthea.  

 

“Certainly, though I cannot guarantee all answers will be allowed,” Anthea answers plainly.

 

It did not set Molly more at ease, but she tries, nonetheless. “How you know I like lemon in my tea?”

 

Anthea smiles, though a bit more guarded. “We have files on all of Sherlock’s contacts,” she replies as she finishes pouring the tea.

 

“But why know if I like lemon in my tea?” Molly presses as Anthea hands her the cup and saucer with care, looking up at her.

 

“Because you fall under a different category than, say, someone from his homeless network, Ms. Hooper.” Anthea holds Molly’s gaze for the moment, the two women exchanging a nonverbal understanding.

 

“I’ll join you with the tea if you don’t mind, Ms. Hooper,” Anthea breaks the silence.

 

“No, please do,”  Molly says, setting her tea down.

 

They fall into a silence as Molly eats her sandwich and Anthea texts in her mobile while pouring her tea. Molly looks toward the door where Sherlock and Mycroft are hold up.

 

She feels the ache to be near Sherlock. She realizes he gives her the confidence she feels slipping away slowly in the quiet. And a small part of her wants to know what they are saying to each other. Mycroft is irritated at his brother, though that is not unusual, she thinks. She wishes that she could be a fly on the wall.

 

“Having second thoughts?” Anthea asks as she sits in the sat across the small table from Molly.

 

Molly is taken aback. Anthea’s question feels personal and sudden. But she answers, nonetheless.

 

“No! Oh God no. I love Sherlock. With all that I am. I have since I met him, smitten from the first time he spoke I believe. God, I tried to forget him a few times, but I always came back to the same feeling...But now, it’s just...” Molly rambles then pauses in her thoughts.

 

Anthea looks down at her tea, shifting the cup in the saucer before lifting it for a small sip and placing it back down. She does not interrupt but merely nods allowing Molly to find her thoughts.

 

“Logistically, it’s a bit daunting that’s all,” Molly says softly.

 

“Hours ago you were being held captive and had to disable a man by hand who was armed,” Anthea points out. “I think you can handle his family... and a wedding. Give yourself some credit.”

 

That wasn’t the logistics that she was referring to, but Anthea found another place of uncertainty it seems, Molly ponders.

 

“I’ll be there to help, if you would like,” Anthea says, taking a small sip of her tea.

 

Molly scrunches her face, “Really? You are MI6. You are Mycroft’s assistant.”

 

“And you will be his sister in law,” she replies with warmth in her voice but then diverts her eyes to her mobile.

 

 _She would fit quite well in this family,_ Molly thinks.

 

Molly wasn’t quite sure why she had that thought as she watches Anthea typing on her mobile.

 

“Yes. I guess I do have to get used to all that comes with being a Holmes. Small price to pay for happiness,” she half laughs.

 

Anthea furrows her brow at the laugh, “I don’t think it's really that hard to be a Holmes.”

 

Molly raises her eyebrow, but Anthea changes her face to the tense smile again, “You are much more alike than you want to admit to yourself at this time.”

 

Molly opens her mouth to protest, but Anthea stops her.

 

“Let’s be honest here, Molly. May I call you Molly?” she entreats.

 

Molly is taken aback and her brow furrows but she nods in reply.

 

“I have helped Mycroft many a time with his brother. Phone calls, rehabs, hospitals, and more. But no one has been able to get him to turn his attention so fully and I dare say calmly. John Watson focused it but he has his own addictions,” Anthea says earnestly. “ Your effect is one like a shelter in a storm.”

 

Molly’s thoughts go to her own recent struggles, but she swallows them down. The Holmes family needs reassurance that all of this is for the positive and she is not sure those confessions would provide confidence. But she could use some reassurance of her own.

 

“But I can’t help, but wonder if after the storm is over, he will decide he does not need a shelter?” Molly half smiles, but it's a sad look and she knows it. She is unsure why she feels comfortable talking to Anthea, but perhaps she just needs any sympathetic ear she can find.

 

Anthea smiles knowingly, “Lesser men perhaps, but this is Sherlock Holmes. And you know this; there is always a storm.”

 

Addiction and emotional trauma will always be a struggle for him. She accepted that years ago; even with no hope of a romantic relationship, she knew this would be a feature of their friendship. But Molly cannot deny some part of her feels a congruent tug. Not to drugs, but to him. From his first words to her, her purpose shown in clarity, her graciousness to dull his starkness. Laying bricks in a circular pattern until his fire is contained and can provide warmth instead of destruction. It always felt like her purpose.

 

“Yes, I know I am signing up for it all, and that I did a long time ago even if he had never returned my love,” Molly says summarizing her thoughts to Anthea. Molly turns her head toward the door behind her.

 

“I am sure that conversation is very fascinating,” Anthea says, sipping her tea, looking in the same direction.

 

“I’d love to be able to hear it, or at least I think I would,” Molly replies.

 

Anthea sighs, “You are going to be privy to many of their conversations from this point on. I would relish the few moments of peace before we land in London and all the madness begins again.” With that last bit of advice, she looks down at her mobile and begins typing again.

 

-:-

Sherlock slumps into the leather seat in the closed room. He prepares his mind for any number of harsh words from his brother. He’ll endure them to get more info about the kidnappers and what is happening that he must get back to London. That much he has deduced.

 

Mycroft takes a seat across from him, letting out a deep sigh.

 

“Speak brother dear,” Sherlock pleads. The silence is irritating now in light of the day they had.

 

Mycroft sighs again, “You could have died today. Molly and the other one as well.”

 

Sherlock huffs, “Why don’t you say what you really feel?”

 

“That you might be making a fatal mistake,” he asserts.

 

“Love is a defect, am I correct?” Sherlock replies with a sneer.

 

“You have failed to prove me otherwise,” Mycroft says dryly.

 

“I am not a god or a wizard. I would have possibility still gotten kidnapped,” Sherlock says, waving off the concern with his hand.

 

“Not likely. You would have been London,” Mycroft says with irritation.

 

Sherlock finds anger bubble up to the surface. If Molly was in here with them...No, even with her here he would have to say the words he is thinking.

 

“What is it?” he begins, eyes squinting as he grips the leather arms of the chairs to steady himself.  “Did you fail in your experiment to construct a sociopath you could control? Since of course you could not control our sister. Because I am odd and quite terrible at emotions at times, but hardly a sociopath it would seem.”

 

That was cruel. Sherlock knows this, but it was bound to come out sometime. Better now than, say, Christmas at the dinner table, he thinks.

 

Sherlock holds his brothers stare but Mycroft drops his eyes first.

 

“I only did what I thought was best,” Mycroft confides.

 

Sherlock stares at his brother, brow furrowing in concern but risks further pressing of the subject.  “What are you afraid of?”

 

Mycroft doesn’t look back up at Sherlock but rather at his lap and puts his head in his hands.

 

“Baby brother, I attempted to protect you from terrible things as best I can and they blew up in my face, quite literally. You have often run right into everything I asked you not to,” he frets.

 

Mycroft says in low voice looking down at his lap and then to the side. “Did I get it all wrong? Have I always been mistaken?”

 

Sherlock regards his brother, perhaps in a way he never has in their entire lives. _Eurus tore him open as well._ Everyone is bleeding out, but he feels guilt settle in his chest for ignoring it in his brother the past few weeks. Though in honesty, his anger clouded his mind on those thoughts. This moment of vulnerability is fleeting and he must say what needs to be said to his brother before the door is closed.  

 

“You haven’t always been wrong. You have always done your best. And you aren’t wrong in your concern,” Sherlock looks at his brother, conveying as much compassion as is comfortable for them both.

 

“But I have weighed everything…” He starts and stops himself, but begins again earnestly.

 

“I am bored with it, brother dear,” Sherlock breathes out.

 

Mycroft lets the annoyance and concern travel to his face unhindered as he looks up again. “Brother do I need to test you once we land or perhaps we can find a kit here for Ms. Hooper to do the honors?” he asks.

 

“No, please listen,” Sherlock pleads. “Pain with no relief is boring. Choosing to not feel is unimaginative to me now. I only hindered my own self, but to be perfectly honest I never accomplished the no feeling goal. Chasing highs that could only disappoint me was a symptom.”

 

“You do not think that love will not do the same?” Mycroft proposes.

 

Sherlock laughs freely and easily, “Oh I expect it to. But I do not care. Feeling is not boring nor a defect, brother dear.”  

 

“It is quite sudden” Mycroft proposes with narrowed eyes. Sherlock knows he knows better.

 

“Is it?” Sherlock asks, knowing Mycroft cannot defend that statement.

 

“No, I guess you are correct in that. She has been in love for years. Despite that she still found time to try to seek affection in others, she came back to you. No matter what she saw from you or how you acted, which might qualify her for sainthood or perhaps an MBE. I have no doubt of her devotion,” Mycroft says with a tight smile.

His face falls to concern again, “She would kill if you asked her to, Sherlock.”

 

“We’ll not discuss that.” Sherlock quietly says, asking in his eyes as they soften to change subjects. He can see that Mycroft will return to the thought in the future.

 

“Yes, save that for your couple’s therapist,” Mycroft sighs. “On to logistics then.”

 

“Yes, Molly will need increased security. And my will needs updating,” Sherlock replies.

 

“Minor details. Her flat has already been re-swept and a detail assigned,” Mycroft relays, returning his hands and his eyes to his mobile.

 

“Yes good,” Sherlock nods, rubbing his lips.

 

“I would like a timeline to know when you will move in with her or if she is staying with you in 221b,” Mycroft adds.

 

“Yes...we’ll get to that soon I am sure,” Sherlock says unconfidently. _Perhaps there are details we should have focused on._

 

“Yes. I had a suspicion that many of the mundane parts of this arrangement had not been discussed,” Mycroft sniffs.

 

“No reason to be smug about it. All will be sorted once we return to London,” Sherlock quips. But in his mind, there is the haziness on these details.  

 

His mind is shocked how much it wants to tear through the door and be back at her side. She clears his head and allows him to face even the tiresome details of life. He fears his addictive side is trying to show itself.

 

“Are you sure this is not a fling or addiction? We have been down this road before,” Mycroft asks, his voice betraying understated concern.

 

 _Oh. There’s the return to the darker thoughts_ , Sherlock thinks.

 

“You know that was fake,” he replies with a small eye roll.

 

“Irene Adler?” Mycroft adds.

 

“Similar minds, that is all. Besides, she is gay. And aromantic I believe? Yes, I believe that is the best label for her. Well, I was an exception I assume and I never even hinted at wanting to be with her, relationship wise. Neither did she. Fascination would have been a better term to describe what we were to each other. ”

 

“Nonetheless,” Mycroft replies impatiently.

 

Sherlock takes a deep breath, and leans forward, looking his brother directly in the eye.  “Add the years up brother dear. Years of dedication with only professional admiration at best and barbs at worst. But you blindly think its friendship at best. But she sees through every piece of your guise, and cuts to your core and makes you want to be better. She loves you at your worst, so you want to give her your best. Well, once the blinders are off,” Sherlock pauses, looks at the door and then back to his brother.  “There is nothing but to love her,”

 

Mycroft’s face scrunches into a frown, “Are you trying to deduce me?”

 

“What?” Sherlock shakes his head in confusion.

 

“Hmm,” Mycroft murmurs.

 

“I was describing Molly and me...wait, did you?” Sherlock frowns but as the realization washes over him, the corner of his mouth turns up and he cocks his head.

 

“Of course you were. Subject, changed.” Mycroft shifts in his seat dramatically as he adjusts his jacket.

 

Sherlock smirks but allows them to move on in the conversation. He notes it and will bring it up later.

 

“Well, you are...in love it seems. Legitimately as that can be. I wish you nothing but the best,” Mycroft says putting in his best smile. “Now on to matters of greater importance.”

 

“I could deduce better with a full stomach,” Sherlock remarks.

 

“ I doubt it. You likely could deduce better with some sort of drug, but we are clean, aren’t we?” Mycroft asks plainly

 

“Yes. Why do continue to ask this?” Sherlock grunts.

 

“Then I doubt a sandwich will help much more. Or perhaps... we need your new addiction here…” Mycroft says with a hint of sarcasm, looking at the door.

 

“She is not an addiction,” Sherlock sighs roughly and furrows his brow. But there is doubt in him and he shifts his gaze down and to the door to hide it.

 

“Time will tell us that. I do hope you are right I think she does wonders for your temperament and she is the only one who can see past your twaddle beside myself and occasionally John Watson,” Mycroft admits.

 

“Then in that sense perhaps she is best to have around for this discussion. It does affect her as well,” Sherlock advises.

 

“Perhaps but it is also a matter of clearance and security she is cleared for yet,” Mycroft declares.

 

“Hmm, she will be my wife,” Sherlock says, a small smile crossing his lips at those words. “She sleeps in the same bed as me and can hear me talking my sleep. Consider her cleared at this point”

 

“You know that is not how clearances work,” Mycroft exasperates. “Also, she did have a relationship with…”

 

“Jim from IT, he was lying to her...And she broke up with him. Don’t bring it up again,” Sherlock says bluntly and with a warning in his tone as he stands.

 

“Yes...fine,” Mycroft breathes out as he stands up. ”Let’s join the ladies, and you can eat a bloody sandwich.”

 

Molly’s head snaps to the door when it opens.

 

Sherlock walks ahead of his brother out the door. He smiles assuredly at Molly and leans down, finding her lips. She attempts a chaste kiss, but he cannot resist a bit of show. His part at least was not chaste and he could feel the eye-roll from his brother. He knows they’ll have to discuss this later and she will remind him not to kiss her like that in front of his brother if it just to annoy him, but he risks it for now.

 

He steps over the sandwich tray. Looking them over he finds a ham one snuck in at the bottom of the pile. He shoves half in his mouth and starts to pour himself tea. Anthea glances his way, cocks her eyebrow up with what could be the smallest of smiles and then is back to her mobile.

 

Sherlock grins back at her, shoving the other half in his mouth.

 

Mycroft stands with his hands in his pockets.

 

“Anthea, how much longer before we land?” He asks.

 

“We should start decent here in the next hour,” she advises, grabbing a laptop out of a bag near her and opening it up.

 

Molly shifts in her seat, glancing back and forth between Sherlock, Mycroft, and Anthea.

 

“Ms. Hooper, you would normally have to pass a more rigorous security screening to be privy to this conversation. But I am nothing but indulgent of my brother,” he smiles smugly.

 

Sherlock shoots him a look, and Mycroft drops his smile, breathes deeply and continues, “ And yes, in addition, you also experienced contact with the criminal element of concern this morning so we decided to include you since you may have concerns.”

 

“I decided but please, proceed,” Sherlock chimes in and proceeds to sit on the floor of the plane at Molly’s feet. He places a hand on her calf and absently rubs it while taking a sip of his tea.

 

“Oh God, good tea. How I missed it, didn’t you too, Molly?” he whispers as he looks up at her. He takes a deep breath, letting her physical presence and its calming effect wash over him. Her scent, her warmth, it is a balm. He smiles lazily and she mirrors his smile. She feels more relaxed now as well and nods enthusiastically to his question.

 

Mycroft cocks an eyebrow up and shakes his head at his brother. Anthea mirrors the same action, though her’s seemed to be amusement driven rather than annoyance.

 

“Yes… onto business. We have had several small break-ins and low-level crimes happening in an interesting pattern in London,” Mycroft informs.

 

“Seems to be rather petty crimes for our concern,” Sherlock frowns.

 

“Ah yes, well, that was several months ago, “ Mycroft says, “Now the pattern is even clear enough for the likes of Scotland yard to pick up on.”

 

Sherlock nods as Anthea hands the laptop to him. Molly peeks down to see the screen.

 

“There is a larger criminal element at work here,” Mycroft frowns. “It has found its way in a similar pattern to other large cities in Europe. But my concern is the United Kingdom at this time.”

 

“The Kingdom first, always, “ Sherlock says with a slightly mocking tone, not looking up from the map on the laptop.

“We are at the beginning of this element’s growth, I believe. But there have been murders the last two days. This is an escalation which requires more specialized investigation.”

 

“Molly and I will examine the bodies tonight,” Sherlock says, rubbing his chin. He desperately needed more information and a solid trip into his mind palace.

 

“Was there anything particular about the murders that I should look for?” Molly asks.

 

Anthea hands her a plain covered folder, “Here’s is what we know at this time.”

 

Molly looks her in the eyes, taking the folder and thanking her.

 

“Do you want to look at this, Sherlock?” Molly asks quietly.

 

He smiles back. “Yes. let’s go over it together.” _You can go into your mind palace later._

 

Mycroft smiles tightly, “Yes, well I will let you two study. ”

 

With that, he takes his hands out of his pockets and sits in the leather seat on the other side of the plane and turns his gaze to his mobile. Anthea stands and grabs the bag near her.

 

“Sherlock, please take my seat so you can use the table,” Anthea advises.

 

She lays a hand on Sherlock’s arm as he stands and looks him in the eye. “Welcome home, Mr. Holmes,” and she turns to Molly, smiling warmly, “And the future Mrs. Holmes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left! Not sure this chapter worked as well but there are moments. Mythea is there if you squint. 
> 
> Thanks again for everyone who has stuck with this story. Feel free to comment anytime.


	12. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All holidays end but now real life as a couple begins.

The dark car pulls up to the curb at 221b Baker Street, under the dark grey sky threatening to open its store.

 

Sherlock and Molly grab their bags quickly as they exit the vehicle and pause on the sidewalk as Mycroft rolls down the window.

 

“I should expect a report by what hour?” He asks with a tight smile.

 

“Well there are bound to be interruptions like se-” Sherlock begins with a smirk.

“We”ll try to have one tonight, if not perhaps by 9 tomorrow?” Molly interrupts, elbowing her fiance, and looking between Mycroft and Sherlock as they narrow their eyes at each other.

 

“Thank you, Ms. Hooper. Always the professional. Hopefully, you’ll influence your future husband over time in that manner,” Mycroft says staring a hole in his brother. He begins to roll up the window but pauses and lowers it again. “You better call Mother soon, or Christmas is going to be very awkward brother dear.”

 

With that, ~~~~he rolls up the window and the car slowly returns to traffic. Sherlock watches it disappear, and breathes out. He feels his mind stretching out to the city, picking up all the resonance in the pavement through his feet up to his ears, and the redolence to the nose to his mind as he breathes in. Like a bird he spies flying overhead, he is mapping where he needs to land first for this case. But then he is back on the ground and to flesh as Molly’s warm hand gently slips into his and grips it. His eyes return to her and her glowing small smile, along with the ring on her finger glittering even in the drab evening, remind him they have friends waiting for them inside. He takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the onslaught from Mrs. Hudson. As to Doctor John Watson who he texted once he landed asking him to come to 221b, he’ll have to wing that a bit once he knows the mood his friend will have.

 

“She is going to be nothing but happy for us you know...he’ll be the same I am sure” Molly assures, rubbing his knuckles with her fingers. She shivers a bit as the wind picks up.

Sherlock grips her hand firmly, and guides her into his arms in an embrace. “I am aware. Preparing myself anyway,” he murmurs into her hair.

 

He looks up to the upstairs window and through the reflection spies two figures he suspected were watching. The smaller one flits away as he smiles and kisses Molly on top of her head.

 

Before they could separate, Mrs. Hudson head pops out the door, yelling “Are you two going to come on in home or you keen on getting rained on? It’s already spitting, get on inside and let me have a look at that ring!”

 

Sure enough the first drops falling found their way down and Sherlock shields Molly with his coat as they rush inside to the foyer. Molly laughs lightly and is immediately crushed by Mrs Hudson’s hug.

 

“My goodness you look like a movie star with that blonde hair, Molly. And that outfit too. Marriage looks amazing on you, my dear,” Mrs Hudson says enthusiastically, giving her another small hug.

 

Molly’s jaw drops and Sherlock’s eye widen in shock.

 

“Mrs. Hudson, perhaps you were misinformed. We did not run off and elope,” Sherlock interjects, straightening his back.

 

Mrs. Hudson reaches out and grips his arm, “Oh Sherlock. It doesn’t matter if you did. You can tell me.”

 

Molly giggles, “He is right, we did not get married, but we are engaged.” She holds ups her left hand a bit more proudly than she expected from herself. Mrs. Hudson’s eyes widen and sparkle with happy tears as she inspects the ring. Sherlock’s smug face receives a loving pat from Mrs. Hudson.

 

“You have wonderful taste, Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson grins. He allows his eyes to crinkle and grin widen genuinely. In times when he is alone, he will wonder to himself how easily smiles come to him these days.

 

Molly beams proudly at her fiance and he returns a similar look of love and admiration.

 

“Oh, you two are too much. So in love,” Mrs. Hudson squeals clasping her hands together. The squeal evokes a blush from both. Sherlock breaks the moment by leaning down and kissing Molly on the top of her head.

 

“I should go see John,” he says softly to Molly.

 

“Oh, he is very happy Sherlock. Please do go talk to him. I am going to get all the details from Molly,” Mrs. Hudson says brightly as she hooks her arm in Molly’s and guides her into her flat.

 

Once the ladies close the door, Sherlock climbs his stairs. So familiar like his heartbeat the rhythm of his pace on them. But there is a tug inside conversely feeling the foreign nature this place hold. Can one change that much with holiday travel? No, it was love and the acceptance in his heart that skew his impression of 221b. He has only time to reach that conclusion before he finds himself at the open door.

 

John sits deep in his chair, clearly looking at his mobile. Sherlock strides to his chair, sitting comfortably to face his friend. Both men size each other up for a moment. But then a mirrored sly grin shared and then a quiet laugh from John.

 

“You know you could have told me what you were going to go do,” John reprimands. “I thought I was your best friend after all.”

 

“Fair enough, but where is the fun in telling others? It was a private thing between Molly and I until now,” Sherlock says with a sniff.

 

“But I would have helped you,” John shakes his head, and answers back with a wounded tone.

 

Sherlock feels the edge of the tone cut in his chest. _What happened to days when mere tone could not affect me,_ he thinks wistfully. But he knows he is too far gone now and for the better.

 

“I…” Sherlock pauses, closing his eyes as he turns his face down to the side. “I’m sorry; perhaps I should have consulted you. It is what friends do.”

Sherlock looks up again at John and sees the small smile return.

 

“Well, you got her to say yes, so perhaps it didn’t require my help,” John sighs. “You are a fast learner, Sherlock Holmes, even for the things you know the least about.”

 

The pain of Mary’s loss and the tight forgiveness between the two of them for all the passed during and after her death remains a tattered cord. But they both allow tension to remain positive most days. But Sherlock recognizes that this is not yet time where he can speak freely about Mary in his mind giving him all the advice he needed.  

 

“It was quite private and intimate actually,” Sherlock smiles softly at the memory.

 

John narrows his eyes, “Sherlock you didn’t ask during...”

 

“No of course not.” he huffs.

 

A quiet sigh of relief from John.

 

“It was right after a really big fight...well I say after,” Sherlock pauses, contemplating. “Yes, I am fairly certain we were done with the fight.”

 

John laughs shaking his head, “Somehow, that works for you, mate.”

 

Sherlock breathes deeply. John is not someone who would or should be privy to the depth of Molly’s depression, at least not yet. But Sherlock feels the need to unburden his concerns. Who better than his best friend?

 

“She believed that I was lying and trying to lure her to help with a case,” Sherlock says quietly. He tosses out thoughts of the what ifs and how wrong the moment could have gone. They make his chest hurt too much.

 

John half laughs, “Well that was a fair assumption.”  But as he studies his friend's face, John swallows hard.

 

“I see then. So that wasn’t a small tiff then, was it Sherlock?” he says with concern and sympathy.

 

“No, and I cannot repeat all that was said... but yes, years of damage laid out before me.” Sherlock shakes his head and rubs his chin.

 

“But you still asked her. And she still said yes,” John reassures, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

 

Sherlock recalls her shock and the joy,  and a smile creeps back across his lips gently. “Yes, she did. Though I think, it was unexpected. It was a pleasant surprise for her for once.”

 

“Then you have the best proposal I think I ever heard of,” John says with reverence.

 

Sherlock furrowed his brow.

 

“You are ready for marriage then if you two can talk like that. Color me very surprised. Maybe I need to see your therapist,” John smiles at Sherlock holding his gaze.

 

“Let me get Molly in first and we’ll see if they can fit you in,” Sherlock slips out.

 

“Molly? Ah... so the effect of your sister spread more than we thought.” John says quietly and sadly.

 _You weren't supposed to reveal that,_ Sherlock chides himself.

 

Sherlock looks at John and then down to the side of his chair before answering.

 

“Yes,” he sighs.  “It would seem she affected all.”

 

John shrugs, “I don’t know, I think I am ok.”

 

Sherlock raises an eyebrow at his friend.

 

John looks him in the eye and sighs, and then puts his face in his hands,” Ok. Maybe I need to see that therapist. One that isn’t your sister” he drops his hands, “It’s not your sister, correct?”

 

Sherlock nods.

 

John watches his friend closely, but his attention is diverted to behind him

 

Molly comes through the cracked open door, beaming. “Hello John!” she grins as he rises to hug her and kiss her cheek. “How are you? How’s Rosie?”

 

“Great! We're great. She's great” John smiles back and forth between the two. “Congratulations Molly. I couldn’t be happier for two people. I wish…” he laughs quietly, and sighs, “ I wish Mary was here to revel in this. She always thought you two would wise up and love each other. She was always right about such things.”

 

Sherlock remembers that day in Sweden and hears her voice ring in his head.

 

Molly crosses the room, kissing Sherlock briefly and standing behind his chair with her hands on his shoulders.

 

John stares at this, his eyes betraying him and threatening to leak.“Yes, this is how it should be. Thank God at least I get to see it.”

 

Sherlock reaches up and grabs her hand, rubbing it to feel that necessary physical connection again.

 

“Yes well, all this is good and well. But time to go back to work I fear,” Sherlock sighs.

 

“Let me get changed, Sherlock and we’ll all head to Barts,” Molly yells as she heads down the hallway to Sherlock’s room with her bag.

 

“Me too?” John asks. “I need to get Rosie first...wait I am sure Mrs. Hudson would like to be in for the night. I’ll text my friend that is watching her and see if they mind if she stays the night, maybe go check on her but I can meet you there.”

 

“Yes sounds good and you can brief us of anything Mycroft has not,” Sherlock reminds John as he rises from his seat.

 

**St. Barts, late**

 

At the morgue, Molly runs through the reports and inspects the bodies beside her fiance and John.

 

“Gunshot to the chest appears this one was close range if not point blank.” she gets a gloved finger in and near the bullet hole. “Yes, point blank I would say.” She walks around the table to the other body and begins to examine it.

 

“The other body is a shot to the neck. Perhaps killed in a struggle?” John asks.

 

She looks down the body, noting all the discolorations. “So all indications either knew their assailant or were in a kidnap situation by the proximity of the wound. Bruising on chest and arms suggest a struggle,” she assesses.

 

John nods, “This guy had a criminal record kilometers long but all petty stuff. Sounds like he got in over his head likely.”

 

Sherlock nods, “I think he was caught unawares; you are correct in that. Reports indicate that he was found at the scene, whereas the other body was found dumped at another location.”

 

“Perhaps the assailant was caught unawares as well,” Sherlock stops, narrowing his eyes as he studies the body and the facts swirl in his mind. He begins again. “No, if it was a kidnap it was not meant to end in murder. Clearly, there was another plan this man disrupted to his detriment.”

 

“Very interesting considering what we experienced this morning, “ Molly responds matter of factually

 

Sherlock swallows hard watching for Molly’s reaction to the recall of the morning.

 

But if she is affected she shows nothing that he can perceive. She focuses on the bodies and recalls the injury she caused her own assailant, shooing away in her mind the thought if she had not gotten the gun from him. _T_ he thought of “what ifs” cannot happen right now, she reminds herself. In her mind the crunch his nose made under her palm, and the sound of Sherlock’s fists finishing the work she began to drift in. With those memories, she steels herself to finish this report.

 

Sherlock lifts the man’s hands, carefully examining them before placing it back on the table. He asks Molly “Does the initial autopsy and police reports show they checked under the nails? Please tell me they did not miss that detail,” he huffs as he leans back against the table behind him.

 

Molly slips off her gloves and disposes of them. Picking up two folders, she opens them on that table, flipping pages, and John shifts to the other side of the table as she moves closer to Sherlock’s side.

 

“Yes, samples were taken...hmm, I wonder who they were assigned to,” She purses and bites her lips as she reads and Sherlock finds his eyes watching them intently. When he shakes away thoughts which strayed to him kissing them, he sees the knowing smirk on John’s face. Sherlock narrows his eyes at his friend and returns his attention to the report.

 

“Well I can find out who has that assignment in my computer in my office,” Molly says, closing the folders. “I’ll report this all to Mycroft. I’ll send an emailed report tonight,” Molly yawns.

 

“Are you sure? Could wait until morning. It’s been by all definitions a long day,” Sherlock furrows his brow in concern.

 

Molly yawns again, putting her hand at her mouth. "Well, I am not going to come in tomorrow unless needed I still have the days as set to be off.”

 

She places a hesitant hand on his arm. It feels so strange the little physical gestures she got used to so quickly in another place. But here in this oh so familiar place, chocked full of specific memories both good and bad between them, it feels foreign to express these physical comforts, she thinks.

 

“Yes well…” Sherlock stops but finds his words do not come out easily as he expects.

 

John yawns, a little too loudly as he stretches, “Well, Rosie is with a friend for the night, so I think I might go home and get some shut eye knowing that she won’t wake me up teething.”

 

Molly nods and smiles warmly, “That is awful, isn’t it? ”

 

“Molars are the worst. Yeah, I am knackered,” John smiles softly. “Though not sure it compares to your day. I mean Sherlock might be used to it, but it's not the typical day for a pathologist. Get you some rest too, Molly.” She notes an extra concern in his tone and face but she couldn't be sure what Sherlock had told him. She’ll ask later.

 

“Bring her by tomorrow I’ll be happy to watch her,” Molly smiles cheerfully. The thought of spending a day with Rosie seems delightful in light of everything behind her and before her.

 

John grins, “And she’ll be excited to see you as well. Thanks, Molly.”

 

“We’ll get an early start. Meet me at 221b tomorrow morning, ok John?” Sherlock says to his friend as he pushes open the morgue door. John salutes with his free hand and heads out the door, then quickly pops his head back in.

 

“Welcome back, Holmes and future Holmes,” he smirks and then the door swings closed.

 

Sherlock sighs as he begins assists her in returning the bodies.“You know I am sorely tempted to take the name Hooper to just shock everyone,” he half laughs to himself.

 

Molly frowns, as she closes the refrigerator door and starts to move the other body. “No, you are Sherlock Holmes. You must remain that always.” _Was that melancholy in her voice at the end,_ he thinks. He tries to lighten the mood anyway.

 

“And what then of the famous Molly Hooper, does her name not also need to remain?” Sherlock asks half joking as he helps her set the body on the rack, pushing it in and closing the door for her.

 

Molly looks down, not answering him as she goes to scrub her hands down again. _Just when I think I understand, I find myself puzzled once more,_ he thinks. But he feels compelled to physically connect once again.  It is a grounding for them both, a connection to their core. Sherlock joins her at the sink, his arms long enough to go around her as he pulls his frame up to her backside standing behind her. She jumps a bit and his hands join hers under the water.

“Just washing my hands as well, and it’s only us here now,” he says gently. “Why do you jump now at my touch? It was only answered with shivers and moans earlier this morning,” he says even softer into her ear.

 

She pulls back from the sink, pushing his frame back gently and away with her's as she grabs paper to dry her hands and hands him some as well.

 

He gazes steadily on his fiance as she dries her hands quickly. He senses every part of her shrinking inward and it bubbles an ache in his chest.

 

She turns her eyes up to his, and the confusion and hurt reflect her own heart causing it to fall. “Oh Sherlock, it is just…” and with that, she steps into his space and finds herself suddenly embracing him.

 

He squeezes her tightly to him as she buries her face into his chest for a moment, before lifting her head to continue, “It is all so new...I think. And in this place all the newer.”

 

Sherlock licks his lips and leans down to brush hers. The kiss is hesitantly accepted by her. But his lips push gently to elicit more from hers and soon they warm to the idea, as lost in sensation as his. He keeps her body close with a hand on her lower back and hand on her face as they break the kiss.

 

He holds her gaze and strokes her cheek lightly with his thumb, “I should have kissed you many times here, Molly Hooper. That is my failure and loss. But you cannot fault me for attempting to correct my previous negligence.”

 

He smiles tenderly and his heart lightens as she mirrors his smile as he releases her, grabs and slips on his coat.

 

“Just don’t do this in the middle of the day while I am sawing a person in half, ok?” she smirks and then sighs. “I need to go to my office, finish this report and then...you want to come to my flat? I could use my bed and a Toby cuddle.” She yawns slightly, holding it back with her hand.

 

“Absolutely. It's closer anyway,” Sherlock says, leaning down to kiss her forehead. He finds he does this act without thinking. She always closes her eyes when he does. He’ll have to experiment with that over time and see if it changes depending on mood. He wants to know how it became instinctual.

 

He runs his hand down her arm and takes her hand, “Your office, a secured email to my brother and then home to bed.” _Home,_ they both think is a question and an answer.

 

As they leave the room and walk down the hall, she finds she feels more at ease. Hand in hand, she leans into his side playfully, “ Maybe Hooper-Holmes?” she grins.

He grins in return, “Whatever you desire, my Molly.”

 

-:-

 

After a couple nights hunting down clues and leads, frustratingly fruitless, Sherlock finds himself planted on Molly’s sofa cataloging what he can in his mind place while Molly sits near him reading quietly. Toby, curled between the two of them, purrs in his sleep.

 

“We should have an engagement party,” Sherlock breaks the silence in a near yell suddenly, causing Molly to jump in place and Toby to wake and leap down.

He found a room in his mind with all the stored information needed for a normal courtship and marriage. Not deleted at all, and he added to it recently.

 

“Sorry. Just thinking out loud, but yes...we should have an engagement party,” he repeats in a softer voice, looking at her face for an answer.

 

Molly’s mouth drops open. She sets her book down, shifts and sits beside him, taking his wrist in her fingers.

 

“What are you doing?” he asks, confusion contorting his face.

 

“Checking if you are high,” she says, brow furrowing deeply.

 

He groans, and picks his hand up and away from her, ”Molly, you know that is decidedly not what is happening.”

 

He frowns with his eyes, holding hers in a gaze. “Everyone assumes I am high every time I suggest anything remotely normal.” he sneers.

 

“In all fairness what do you expect, Sherlock?” she half laughs. His wounded look compels her heart to twinge and she pulls back her smirk.   “I am sorry maybe that isn’t completely fair,” Molly downcasts her eyes to his hands as she slips hers back into his gingerly.

 

His face dissolves to regret, and he grabs her hand. “No, do not apologize. There is truth to it,” he nods.” But I have hope that over time that will not be the first thought you leap to.”

 

He smiles, with an edge of sadness in his eyes. “I need you to remind me. engagement party...it is what normal couples do, am I correct?” he asks earnestly.

 

Molly grins, “Yes it is sometimes, but it’s still unusual for you to want any sort of party, much less one all the focus will be on you and me and our relationship.”

 

But it will be our friends,” he offers.

 

“And my co-workers maybe? But still, it isn’t private, like our engagement was which was perfect in case you were wondering,” she sighs happily at the memory.

 

He grins, perhaps with a bit of smugness that he realizes and pushes it back down and clears his throat.

 

“You basically were trying to get me to break off the relationship minutes before it,” He mocks sulking but it turns into a smirk.

 

“Was I? I don’t know about that I think I was just being honest about the past…” She starts, feeling a pull inside to ignore his smirk and to mirror his sulk.

 

But he gives her that puppy dog look of hurt and she is undone again. _One day you have got to learn to resist that look,_ she reminds herself. She takes a deep breath and looks down at her hands and out into the room slightly.  “Ok fine. Being honest, some part of my mind was doing it for protection of itself.”

 

He watches as she instinctively withdraws but he pulls her into an embrace. _I can learn how to do this right,_ he thinks.

 

Molly finds herself melting into him, and places a kiss on his chest.

 

“I know...I always know. This is a new reality for both our minds, one we are building on new ground. But I am fortunate that somehow I never made enough mistakes to render this relationship impossible. For that alone I am blessed,” he says quietly, pressing his lips to the top of her head. He breathes in deeply the scent of her shampoo, better than any perfume he thinks.

 

“So where and what date were you think of having this party?” she asks as she trails kisses up to his neck.

 

He gulps. “Angelos, in three weeks provided all of our friends can attend,” he breathes out quietly.

 

She straddles his lap slowly as his hands rest lightly on her hips. They capture each others eyes,  blue and brown meeting like the ocean on the sand. Slow suggestive smiles creep into their lips at the same time.

 

“Sounds perfect” she whispers and without another pause, her lips meet his and they lose themselves into the sensation that begins on the couch and ends in her bed hours later.

 

**Three weeks later**

 

It was a small party but a vibrant evening of celebration at Angelos.

Everyone kept making speeches and toasts, well, everyone but Mycroft. But at the assistance of their mother and father, he joined them in their speech.

 

Greg Lestrade’s was particularly cheery and short, as he toasted, he said, “It's about bloody time! And I owe Anderson 50 quid!”

 

Sherlock finds himself amused at all the attention. Having people around him who care and that he knows he cares for too distract him well from the frustrating case he is saddled with now. But none of it matches the pure sunshine smiles he is blessed to observe from his future wife. Everytime he feels his mind slip, he looks again to her and all clears away. He keeps a hand on her side or in her hand.

 

Mycroft watches the couple intently rom the sideline, his forehead crease telegraphing his concern.

 

“It is a hell of a thing, isn’t it?’ John says suddenly as he stands beside Mycroft. John takes a long sip from his pint.

 

“Yes...Hell of a thing indeed. Concerning is a word for it,” Mycroft keeps the crease in his forehead even as he attempts a tight smile at John.

 

“I don’t know though. He seems, well, honestly happy. Actually really happy and perhaps, content?,” John says with a warm smile looking toward his best friend.

 

“You and I both know that unless its about a murder or other salacious unsolved crime seeing Sherlock being joyful is always concerning” Mycroft sniffs.

 

John nurses his pint and his smile remains, but it goes slight as he contemplates what Mycroft said.

 

“I have always thought him to be much more than just a detective. Perhaps his brother should too?” John smirks, but keeps his eyes on the couple who are laughing with Greg about something.

 

“Perhaps but this is all quite fast. Considering his past obsessions and addictions, I only hope we are not looking at a similar case now,” Mycroft sighs, putting both his hands in his pockets.

 

John furrows his brow, “I am inclined to tell you how wrong you are...but a part of me sees that possible concern.

 

Both men go quiet in contemplation. The silence between the two men is broken by their matching yelps and the smacking sound to their arms. They whip their head to look at Mrs. Hudson, who is giving them her best “how dare you” stare.

 

“What was that for?” John grits.

 

“John Watson and Mycroft Holmes, you both listen to me and listen to me good.” she speaks in a low voice and points her finger at both of them.

 

Neither man speaks, still dumbfounded faces matched.

 

“He is happy, and by God, no one deserves it more than him,”  she asserts. “He is always been an emotional boy and now he can start to actually live that truth. Maybe my walls won’t get shot up anymore.

 

She deepens her voice and she reprimands, “ Listen to me, don’t you two dare put any thoughts or doubts in his mind, though not sure you could at this time. I hope not.  Molly is made for him. They both love a dead body more than is right. but Lord can they really find anyone else who does but themselves?”

 

She stares boldy at Mycroft, “You say murder makes him happy? Well, it doesn’t make her sad. But both of them care more about the care of others, a damn sight more than they care about themselves.”

 

She softens her voice and turns her eyes on the couple.  “Two sides of the same coin those two. They were meant to find each other, and for God’s sake let them be. I just want to him to be happy.

 

“And know that I’ll do anything in my power to help him stay that way,” she says in a lowered voice full of warning.

 

“What if this isn’t real...or “ Mycroft begins in protest.

 

“Don’t you speak those words,”  she squeaks out, her emotions catching up with her.  “If it ends it will be their own doing, not any influence from you two.”

 

John puts up his hands in surrender, “I am going to just be happy for him, exceedingly happy. I promise. And I’ll only help him if he asks for it.”

 

Mrs. Hudson smiles at John and he takes that permissions that he can go talk to his best friend and walks to Sherlock. .

 

Mrs. Hudson turns and puts her finger to Mycroft’s chest.

 

“Madam, is that necessary?” he asks as he looks down at her hand.

 

“Yes, I think it is. Let him have a slice of this, just one piece of happy for God’s sake,” she pleads. “ And maybe, consider finding it for yourself.” With that said she walks off toward the punch bowl, leaving Mycroft to pout were he stands.

 

Sherlock wonders what Mrs. Hudson said to his brother. He spied the finger in his chest and it made him grin. He wants detail of why she had to put her finger into Mycroft’s chest.

 

As he gives Molly’s hand a squeeze and is about to release it to stroll over to his pouting sibling, he senses the shift in the room.

 

Greg rush to John’s side, with his mobile still at his ear. John turns his eyes and locks them on Sherlock.

 

That look is a kind of home. It tells him that the game is on and his chest fills with warmth and swells at the thought.

 

Before Greg and John make their way to Sherlock, he pulls Molly into his arms suddenly. She gasps, but looking at the lightning spark in his eyes knows that Sherlock Holmes is on a case. The fact that this electrifies her heart greatly surprises her more than she’ll understand for awhile.

 

Sherlock tips her head back with a finger under her chin and with a smirk, his lips are on hers.

 

“You ready? You can kiss her later” Greg asks hurriedly.

 

John laughs to himself.

 

“Time to go be Sherlock Holmes,” Molly says beaming as they part lips and Sherlock, Greg and John run out the door as a patrol car lit up stops in front with a screech.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I am done!
> 
> Thank you again for coming along on this ride. It has been joy to write in most ways.
> 
> and guess what, they'll be more story! Look for a fic called Everything in its Place maybe starting next month.
> 
> Love to Mouse9 for keeping me on task with this.
> 
> Thank you to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat for making Molly.


End file.
